An Anxious Visitor
by TheOwlMoth
Summary: It's the day after Christmas for the Louds, and they're all safe and snug and happy at home. But the whole mood changes when a taciturn girl arrives at their door, practically frozen, and has to stay with them. The new environment is a bit overwhelming for her, but the Louds do anything they can to make her feel comfortable.
1. Bitter Cold

**So this was initially a self insert, but then I decided, "Nah, self inserts don't exactly have the best reputations in the world," so I changed the name of the character to a name that is common but one that I like, and changed her personality to a more paranoid, less open one. The OC in this story is also the same OC I used in one of my previous stories, but these stories do not take place in the same universe. **

** I have put so much into this story. It took me so long just to write the first chapter. **

**With that said, here is An Anxious Visitor. **

**Chapter One—Bitter Cold**

Well, I've landed in another tough situation, haven't I?

My back was stiff and frozen in place, preventing most movement. My eyes were frozen shut, like the strongest glue had been used on my face. I had been numbed by the gentle white crystals of winter, paralyzed, and trapped by ice. I hadn't been conscious, luckily—but my subconsciousness transferred the gelid aid to my dreams, and all I could see from there was a world of cold black. There was only one thing I could hear distinctly—

_Thump, thump. _

_Thump_, _thump_.

_Thump_, _thump_.

_Thump_ . . .

I soon craned my neck up to a dimly-lit, frigid setting. The surface I lied on was freezing, rough and wet, my environment was dark, only illuminated by twinkling lampposts. Small white snowflakes flurried down upon this city in the night, piles upon piles collecting in dark alleyways. All was quiet, except for the distant echoes of cars moving along crunching snow. As I had discerned, this place was a humble suburb, with a decent, thriving population.

Moaning, I pressed my weak, shaky hands on the ground—Only, it didn't feel like normal ground. I had unwittingly placed my hands in a puddle of icy slush. As I jerked, startled, my fingertips froze along with the winter air. Snow quickly coated my hands like a blanket from Jack Frost. Sadly, I had the tremendous misfortune of only wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and roomy gym pants. Not a coat, or a quilt for even a second of heat. I felt as though my temperature was dropping every second, but I couldn't just lie there on my own. I'm not one to immediately dive into action when there's trouble, because I'm used to being pushed aside and told to wait until an expert solves the problem.

Well, let me begin—my name is Annabelle, with a preferred nickname of Anna. It's not the name I'd rather have, since it's ridiculously plain and common as dirt, but I have learned to live with it. At school, it wasn't exactly a rarity to witness one of my teachers or peers calling out the name 'Anna' only for another Anna or two, especially me, to ask, "Which one?" Quite an annoyance. But, it was normally one of the others, I was always the quiet, submissive one. The different one.

Anyway—I pushed myself up into a sort of push-up position and scanned the area. It was definitely some place new, and I didn't recall ever wandering into this area—only waking up there. I stood, brushing the thick snow off myself, and saw a dark, wet stain on my shirt from the snow. My pants were also soaked, coated in frost. Cold freeze hit my entire body like lightning, and I hugged myself tightly in a vain attempt to retain warmth. I could visibly see my breath escaping my mouth, lips growing icy and pale. At this point, there wasn't anything left to do . . .

So, I trudged along the snow-covered sidewalk I had woken up on, rubbing my hands on my arms to try and maintain heat. Nothing worked, and my shoes were only growing soggier from stepping in sloshy puddles of slush. Not that I could do anything, though; my shoes had been practically ruined months before I woke up in this cold place. I slogged along the sidewalk for a few minutes, until I came across a puddle of water that hadn't been frozen yet. My reflection appeared as I loomed over the puddle.

I gasped in slight alarm.

I gaped at waist-length, slightly wavy chestnut hair—though, it's hard to tell with how ridiculously thick and abundant it is. My eyes were tired and hazel, and shielded by a pair of black glasses. I always hated my ordinary appearance, because brown hair and brown eyes were even more common than my own name. My whole life I'd wished for blonde hair, blue eyes, maybe red hair and green eyes, like Jessica Rabbit. But this time, my hair had icicles dangling from horribly split ends, my face was sickly pale, purple bags lingered underneath my eyes. With all the snow flecking my face, my few cheek freckles were hardly visible.

Sighing, I lifted my head forward, spotting a mysterious silhouette of a man with an umbrella and a thick winter coat. I raised my hand meekly, but the man simply glared, and pushed past me carelessly, knocking me into a contaminated slush puddle.

"Watch where you're walkin', kid. And wear some proper winter attire, you look like the village fool."

I panted from the cold, shakily regaining my balance. At the moment, I was more shocked than angry at the man—but, what energy did I have to even go on a rampage? I had hardly harnessed enough energy to stand on my own. With the cold digging at the last atoms of strength I had left, I proceeded to cautiously walk down the snow-covered path, where traces of people were left behind, from dropped coins, footprints, paw prints, and the remnants in the snow on the road from where cars and heavy trucks drove. Along the slow journey, I wondered, Where on Earth am I right now?

What is this city called?

Who all lives here?

. . .

_Can_ _anyone_ _help_ _me_ _at_ _all_?

The mental questioning distracted me from a solidified heap of snow in front of me, and I caught my foot on it and stumbled forward. I groaned again, wishing so hard to be under a warm bed comforter, and that this was only a horribly frigid dream.

Then a bright light.

I blinked.

Out twenty feet ahead was a humble, inviting convenience store, accompanied by a small, old-fashioned gas station. There was a sign on the store that read: Flip's Food n' Fuel. I instantly felt a wave of relief wash over me, and I picked myself back up to weakly approach the store.

As I grew closer, I noticed a short, plump old man with a bushy gray mustache and eyebrows, wearing a decent set of winter attire. He was chipping the ice off the windshield of his large vehicle, and occasionally spewing out growls of frustration. This was a man I could only presume to be the owner of the convenience store, seeing how nobody else was really at the place.

When I stepped onto the property, my footsteps quite noisy in the thickening snow, the terribly-complexioned man turned and smacked his lips. "Hey there, popsy. Come to buy a Flippee from Flip's Food n' Fuel?" he boomed, as if I was all the way on the other side of a mountain.

I covered my ears, then shook my head. I'm usually very shy around people I don't know, particularly adults or relatives I haven't seen in over two years. So I said meekly, "No, sir, I-I'm lost, I-I don't even know how I ended up in this place, and, and . . ."

The man hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "Well, if you dunno where the heck y'are, ye must be illiterate! Yer in Royal Woods, kid."

What! Royal Woods? Excuse me?

"R-Royal Woods?" I said dumbly.

"Yeah, where else?"

"I just, I ended up on the side of a road, and I have no idea h-how I even got there . . ." My teeth chattered as I spoke. I turned my head to the store, where the lights were on and it looked toasty. "C-Can I go inside?"

"Ya got money?" the man asked plainly.

"P-Pardon?"

"Money. Ya know, ta buy. New policy o' mine: You cannot exit the store without buyin' something."

I froze in disbelief. This male equivalent of a hag wanted money in return for a chance to survive? I was speechless, put in shock. I was on the brink of hypothermia, and maybe a chance to the Emergency Room, and he wanted money, of all things? I hoped that none of the other residents of this Royal Woods place were like this, as I just carefully trudged along and avoided eye contact with the man.

"An' be sure to come back to the home of the Flippee when you have the chance!" he exclaimed vigorously, watching me walk away, even more desperate and lonely than before.

I moaned to myself, trying so hard not to crumble under all the stress and despair of waking up far from home in the winter. At least I was away from the seven siblings—yes, you read it correctly—pushy, overbearing parents and tough school life I had. Though, I was beginning to reconsider my longing to escape. I knew I'd never get home if I didn't find a phone, or a trustworthy person who could get me home or safe without me having to pay money before entering their house.

My wandering and wondering and pondering went on for half an hour, as I randomly took turns on the curbs of the suburban roads, and by then, I was completely surprised that I was still alive. I looked up and noticed how I had come across the entrance of a spirited little neighborhood, with a friendly welcoming sign and lovely-looking homes. Some of the homes had a decent remainder of Christmas decorations on them, from deflated snowmen to tangled lights. I assumed this was a neighborhood with welcoming people and even kids for me to associate with before getting home, so I didn't hesitate too long before walking down the path of houses.

One of the first homes I came across was one that definitely belonged to a family with playful children. It was a fairly big home, with a snowed-up yard, a huge Redwood tree with a tire swing, and a large, old blue van in the driveway. The actual house had a red door with a metal plate next to it reading 1216. Obviously, it was the number of the home's address. On the dark gray roof was a boomerang, halfway covered in snow, and another toy in the shape of a circle that I had no idea what to call. This home was my first choice, my first real chance at surviving . . .

So, I stepped up to the porch, nearly slipping on ice, and knocked, my hand trembling. I waited for a brief moment, spinning my ungloved hands urgently.

About ten seconds later, the door went open wide, revealing a boy who was about four or five inches shorter than me—but what caught me off guard was his snow-white hair. It was uniquely white, not blonde, but completely white. He wasn't old in the slightest, he was short and lacked wrinkles or dried-up, raisin like skin. Instead, his skin was fair and smooth, perhaps he had a little patch of peach fuzz on his chin. He had an orange pajama outfit on him, and wore a friendly smile.

"Oh, hi. Are you one of Lori's friends?" he asked, smiling kindly.

My mouth parted a little, as it grew dry, began to taste foul, my eyes started to water, and a lump came in my throat—

"Hello?" the boy asked. "You don't look so good."

I finally shook my head. I had grown anxious, as I always do when speaking to somebody new.

"Just a moment, please." The boy turned, pushing the door back, and cupped his hands over his mouth. "Mom! There's some stranger at the door! She doesn't look too good! Come over here!"

I dug my right foot into the heaping snow on the welcome mat, staring at the ground. My chest pumped, growing exponentially faster each second, as my fear of being rejected and kicked out of the property aroused.

Just as I was about to lose my hope, a tall, broad-hipped woman with pale blonde hair and a pink sweatshirt answered the door. She had a friendly face and thick, succulent red lips.

"Hi, I'm Rita Loud, how can I help y—"

She stared at me, scanning me from head to toe. Her smile waned into a look of shock and concern, as she faltered and stuttered, clutching the red door. "Lincoln . . . ?"

The boy his mother had addressed trotted to her side. "Yeah, Mom?"

Rita, the mother, dropped her jaw. "Oh, goodness! Who is this, Lincoln? Why are there icicles—"

"I dunno, Mom. She just appeared out of nowhere. She's not one of Lori's friends. I don't think any of us know her."

"Uhh, Mom, who's at the door?"

I leaned my head to the left to look inside. Down some black, unstable stairs hopped a girl, shorter than me, wearing a red and white jersey and shorts. Her hair was as brown as mine, only hers was shorter and pulled up into a ponytail. "Woah, Mom, who is this girl?"

"Uh, we don't know, Lynn—"

Lynn shoved her way in front of the woman and took a look at me. "Yeah, don't recognize her. Wait, woah! Is she in the middle of hypothermia?"

I clutched my arms, shivering. I didn't want to ask if I could be let in, because I am so used to being polite, submissive, and not greedy. It had come to me that I hadn't spoken at all since I met the greedy scammer back at the convenience store. Then I heard two shrill, childish voices rumbling from up the stairs. Two twin blonde girls of about age six were wrestling each other down the stairs, grunting and pushing and pulling.

"_No, it's mine!" _

_"No, it's mine!" _

"_Let go!" _

"_You_ _let_ _go_!"

The girls ceased their battle as they noticed the door was open, cold wind running through. I could finally get a clear look at them; one had her hair pulled into little pigtail braids, with a red cap over her head, and the other had the same blond hair, only it was let down and she wore a pink gown with a tiara. "Mom, who's that?" the girls said simultaneously.

"Ooh, Mom, did you order pizza? Ugh, no one ever tells me anything," I heard another voice say. The voice apparently came from a girl with pale blonde hair, similar to her mother's, and a mint-green nightgown with a pink sleeping mask over her forehead. The girl, also curious as to who was at the door, poked her head through the gap between Rita and the white-haired boy, then gasped.

"Mom! She looks awful!" she shrieked, hurriedly stepping out the door and bending down to my height.

"Leni, come back in, you'll catch a cold," Rita ordered, extending her arms dramatically.

And I've already caught one, please let me in, I'll do anything . . .

"Uhh, Mom, who is this girl? She literally has icicles dangling out of her nose," another teenager with a sassy voice said. This girl was one I presumed to be one of the oldest siblings; she had short, beautiful gold blonde hair, and wore a white tank top with shorts that revealed most of her legs. Only when she reached the door did she look up from her phone.

Rita raised an eyebrow at me, her worried countenance becoming more prominent. "Uh—Uh, sweetie, are you okay? How long have you been out? Where are your parents!"

The pale blond teenager had her arms wrapped around me in an attempt to console me. I simply shrugged, still shaking out of control, then sneezed at such a priceless high pitch.

"Mom, she looks kind of sick," the girl sighed, looking up at Rita worriedly. "Shouldn't we take care of her?"

"But her parents might live in this neighborhood, we should try and contact them to get her home," replied Rita, beckoning her to come inside. She looked back to me. "Do you know your mother's phone number, sweetheart?"

I shook my head in silence.

The oldest sister sighed and closed her eyes solemnly. "Leni's right, Mom. She might not even live in this neighborhood. She could literally be lost right now, or even homeless. And someone please tell me why she has icicles dangling from her hair, she looks like Jack Frost's demented sister."

I stood there, unable to speak, still shivering under the freezing air. Leni, the girl next to me, clasped her hands together and held them up to her chin like a precious child. All the other siblings at the door looked back at their mother, attempting to imitate the expression of 'puppy dog eyes'.

Rita's eyes darted from left to right twice, before she sighed, having decided letting me in was the right thing to do. "You're right, kids. It's best to let her warm up before she goes home—if she goes home at all. Now, let this poor girl in, stat!"

Her children blinked at her.

"Oh, sorry. I'm so used to saying that at the dentists' office."

At last, Rita widened the door for me to enter. I cautiously stepped in, as the siblings at the door parted ways, and as soon as I felt the inviting warmth of the home, I sighed and curled my lips to a small smile. The first room was a living room, with a gray-blue sofa in front of a small television. Adjacent to the sofa was a blue chair topped with a couple of decorative pillows. A burning fireplace was near the sofa, and I headed in the direction of it as soon as I noticed.

"You can come sit over here," Rita said, holding her hand out to the sofa. "Sit tight. It will be okay." Lynn, the jersey girl, handed her a fluffy white towel, and Rita wrapped the towel around my shivering back. Lincoln offered me a stuffed bunny with a red shirt he called Bun-Bun, but I refused—I didn't want to ruin him with my soggy snow clothes. Rita headed into a kitchen with black and white tile floors, calling out her husband's name. It also happened to be Lynn. I assumed there was a Lynn Sr. and a Lynn Jr.

Suddenly, I heard a chorus of noise rumbling down the stairs. Two more sisters were coming, both brown-haired and extroverted. The older one, a girl in a purple outfit, incredibly short, dark brown hair and paperclip earrings, and a girl roughly my age and height with a chestnut brown ponytail (supported by a scrunchie) and yellow button pajamas approached the sofa, but then gasped in shock when they discovered me pale and weak.

"Dudes, what's with the new chick chillin' on the sofa?" the purple-dressed one inquired, looking around with a confused expression.

"Oh, she just came to our door, and we don't know who she is," said Lincoln, plopping down on the comfortable chair. "We had to let her in because she looks really cold and sick." He turned to me. "Well, these are my sisters, Luna and Luan."

"'Sup, dudette?" Luna said.

"Ice to meet ya!" Luan exclaimed perkily, holding her hand out to me. "But seriously, I don't think it's healthy to have icicles dangling from your nose."

I recoiled shyly.

Lincoln scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Uhh, I don't know if she really likes to talk. But she looked like she needed our help, she might not have parents who live around here."

Luan, the comedic girl with the ponytail, plopped down on the couch beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. "This is definitely snow time for joking," she joked, contradicting her own words.

Luna and Lincoln groaned, facepalming. Leni, the girl in the mint-green night dress, came stepping into the room, her hands posed out in front of her like a carnivorous dinosaur. "Hey, you guys," she said kindly. "Is the girl okay? Is she sick at all?"

As if on cue, I sneezed again, high-pitched, prompting Luan and Luna to instantly burst into laughter. "That sneeze is priceless, dude!" Luna snickered, patting my head as if I was a pet. "Bless you!"

"Yeah, you could be a real comedian with a sneeze like that!" added Luan. She sighed, ending her laugh-fest.

I smiled lightly, my body shaking from both being cold and slight laughter.

"Yeah, that sneeze was totes adorable," said Leni, sitting to my right. She and Luan rubbed my shoulders softly, not massaging them with the force equivalent to a beast or anything extreme. Unlike most, I've always hated massages. They cause me more pain and stress than the work that urges most people to ask for a massage in the first place. I leaned against the back of the sofa, tugging the towel over my shoulders.

Just then, a tall man with a distinct brown haircut strode into the room, carrying a tray of hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies. He, like his wife, Rita, had a friendly face, and looked like he could charm the public with one wink. "Hey, kids, your mom told me about a g—oh, my!" He glanced at my body, which was still pale and covered in melting icicles and snow. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, still quavering.

"Here, have some cookies and hot chocolate. That should warm you up in no time." He set the tray upon the coffee table in front of the sofa, and said charmingly, "Bon appetit."

Lincoln reached his hand over the tray for a cookie. "Oh, may I . . ?"

I nodded again, handing him a cookie.

"Thanks, stranger." He opened his mouth wide, about to stuff the entire cookie inside, but then paused and closed his mouth. "Oh, by the way, what's your name? We never asked that, we're sorry."

It was at that moment I froze and had no response. It's not that I hate people, or that I can't talk, it's that I have a major problem—social anxiety. Not that I am antisocial, because that was an entirely different meaning in itself. I consider myself an asocial being, not an antisocial being—Never hostile to others, never hating them, just reclusive and alone.

Lincoln waved his hand over my blank face. I hadn't realized that I left him hanging for over ten seconds, so when something new came into my senses, I snapped back to reality. "So, um, what's your name?" he repeated.

Luna, Leni, and Luan all looked at me, awaiting my answer. I just sat there, my big brown eyes like a deer's in a headlight.

"Okay . . . Never mind. We'll get to that later." Lincoln sighed, leaning over to Luan. "I don't think she can talk."

"Me neither," said Luan.

Then, the sound of footsteps like drums in a band.

It seemed as though every resident of the house had come forward to meet me. I counted eleven at most, two adults and nine children. And I thought my own family was large. Without speaking, they all went to work trying to give me maximum comfort. The oldest sister placed my feet inside a green bowl of warm water, the two little twins wrapped me in a fuzzy blanket, and Rita handed me a box of the "softest tissues she could buy".

"Gee, you're a real quiet one, aren't you?" Rita said at one point.

"Yep, this is basically what happens when one of the Louds is sick, especially me," Lincoln started introducing, putting his arm around me. "Anyway, these are my sisters, Lori, Leni, Luna, Luan, Lynn, Lana, Lola, and Lily. Wait, Lisa isn't here, dang it—"

All the sisters lined up in birth order, oldest to youngest. Apparently, Lincoln had said their names in the exact birth order, too, which impressed me to say the least.

"You forgot me."

Lincoln and I shrieked, leaning back in fright as a little girl at the age of eight appeared. Coal black bangs concealed her eyes, and her skin was pasty and pale, like she was a ghost. She wore a white pajama shirt with black and white striped leggings.

So I guess there were thirteen.

"Lucy! I always forget about Lucy!" Lincoln moaned, slapping his hand over his eyes. "Anyway, she's between Lynn and Lana in birth order. And I'm the middle child."

"It's no surprise, really. I'm just a ghost in a house full of oblivious mortals." Lucy's voice was blank and cold, no trace of emotion whatsoever.

My eyes widened in shock, as Lincoln just scowled at Lucy. "Uh, Lucy, we're kind of trying to stave off hypothermia for this girl here."

"Right. Welcome to the Loud House, mortal. Beware, I must warn you of the overbearing siblings you are about to face." She trudged over to the line of girls, squeezing just between Lynn and Lana, the girl with the red cap.

One last child, the thirteenth, came stepping down the stairs, not bothering to look up from two green smoking test tubes in her puny hands. She had untidy short brown hair, a green turtleneck sweater, and a huge pair of thick black glasses. She seemed to be the only member of this family who wore glasses, which was strange to me, since vision impairments are usually inherited. The girl reached the bottom of the stairs and looked over to me, then asked, "Mother, who is this guest you have invited to our abode?"

"Oh, Lisa, we didn't invite her," said Rita, crouching down to her daughter's level. "She just came to our front door. Be nice for her, sweetie."

"Pish posh, maternal unit, I am a certified genius, I know the difference between intentional impolite actions and serving others well." Lisa carried her test tubes into the dining room, as I sat there, awed by this four-year-old's expansive vocabulary.

"That's Lisa. And I've already introduced myself, Rita Loud, and this is my husband, Lynn," said Rita. "Can you at least say your name for us, please?"

The whole family gathered around the sofa, with the two eldest sisters sitting on either side of me. All of them had fair skin, just like me, some dotted with brown freckles.

Well, I couldn't have just left them hanging. They couldn't call me "Stranger" my entire time here. I decided to be honest about one thing.

"My name's Annabelle," I finally said, lips trembling, eyes burning.

"So she can talk!" exclaimed Lincoln, smiling at me and showing off a large, chipped tooth at the front of his mouth.

"Yeah, I can talk—I'm, just, so sorry, I don't know what came over me. I'm fourteen years old and I can, in fact, talk. I'm fourteen years old and I have no clue where I am."

"So, Annabelle, do you live in this neighborhood? Where are your parents?"

I sipped my hot chocolate, then set it back down on the tray. "I don't know." Slowly, I began to descend into tears and more incoherent murmurs of sadness. "I just woke up on the side of the road and I didn't know where I was, then I went to a convenience store owned by some greedy old businessman, and, and, and—"

Rita hushed me. "Ah, I see you met Flip. Know your mom's phone number? Or anyone you're related to?"

"I don't even live in this city at all. And, I don't have my phone on me, nor do I remember any of my relatives' phone numbers." I sneezed again, then wiped my nose with my arm. "I live in South Carolina, which I'm positive I'm nowhere near, and I haven't heard of this Royal Woods until I heard the man tell me where I was. I'm so lost and confused and scared, I don't know where to go and I miss South Carolina." My voice had gone incoherent and high pitched again, while tears streamed down once more.

Lynn Sr, the father, looked at Rita in concern. "Rita, I don't know what we should do, how does anyone even end up in this situation?" he asked, a tint of fear on the edge of his voice.

"I have . . . No clue." She looked back to me, and back to Lynn. "Listen, I know this might seem a little . . . Illegal, but I don't think we have any choice."

Lynn Sr. exhaled with reluctance. "Yes, Rita. She can stay. I don't want to be responsible for the hypothermia of a child."

All the Loud Kids cheered gleefully, throwing random props into the air like excited graduates. Rita cleared her throat and snapped her fingers sharply, her children all going quiet. "Now, kids," she started firmly, "this girl is not a casual friend, or anyone we know well. So we have to be respectful. So, Lynn, no play punches, Lucy, no popping up and scaring her, Lola, no forced makeovers, Luan, no cruel pranks, Luna, no guitar to the ears, Lisa, no dangerous experiments, and Lily, no throwing your diaper at her."

Lily, the babbling baby, sucked on her pacifier, then spat it out and giggled. All the other siblings nodded in understanding, murmuring with excitement. They all dispersed, some going to the kitchen, some staying right there in the living room.

"If my calculations are correct, then one more minute out in the snow would have been enough for you to attain hypothermia," Lisa stated with intelligence. "Likewise, you are blessed to have been allowed in this obnoxious location by our maternal parent. Though I believe in no blessings."

"Ah," I said blankly, biting into a chewy chocolate chip cookie. "Thank you for that, um . . . Was it Lisa?"

"Indeed. My preferred label is, in fact, Lisa." She pushed up her glasses and climbed up onto the sofa next to Leni. "Must I repeat the names of my sibling units for you?"

I shook my head slowly.

"Heheh, what an ice surprise!" The comedian, Luan, came leaping her way to the sofa, squeezing her way between Lori and me. I stared at her, face completely devoid of anything but confusion.

Lori groaned. "This is Luan," she sighed, placing her hand on Luan's head. "I'm Lori, that's Leni next to you."

"Hi there, Autumn," Leni greeted with a friendly grin.

"Um, actually, it's Annabelle—"

"Rockin' that Mom's letting you stay in the crib with us, dude," the rockstar one interrupted by mistake, coming into the room and sounding rather laid back. "What's your name again? I didn't hear, you gotta speak up if you wanna survive the jams of a concert."

"Annabelle," I repeated, sighing through my nose. I so badly wished that I was named Florence. To me, it was a beautiful, uncommon name that no teacher would confuse me with like four others who shared the name.

"Cool. Glad you're chillin' with us." Luna beckoned Lisa to make room on the sofa, to which she obliged. "Thanks for the scoots, little sis."

"Gee, I'm gonna need flash card practice with how many children there are in this house," I mumbled, smiling a little.

To my surprise, Lisa, Luan, and Luna all started to snicker. "Oh, you're funny enough for even me!" Luan exclaimed, nudging me with her elbow.

"Huh? It wasn't that funny," I replied. Quite frankly, I shouldn't have been surprised. Oftentimes, when my father and I have half-hour-long discussions, I say some subtle things, and I never really expect to get a laugh out of the other. It's a strange phenomenon that happens so frequently for me.

I felt a warm hand go to my forehead. It was Leni's, apparently she was checking for a fever or some other illness. "Oh no! You guys, I think she has a fever!" she squealed.

"A fever from being out in the cold? I have my doubts about that statement. Nasopharyngitis is far more likely to be obtained from being out in such frigid conditions, not to mention, the rapidly descending ice crystals," Lisa informed us, her straight, deadpan face not budging.

"NASA, Fahrenheit, kite-us?" Leni questioned, tilting her head.

Lisa slapped her forehead. "Common cold."

"Ohh," the other siblings chorused.

A moment later, Lincoln's head popped out from behind the wall covering the kitchen. "Oh, Annabelle, our mom says it's a good idea for you to take a warm bath or shower," he told me, walking over and getting down on his knees by the coffee table. "It can help fend off sickness. Come on, I'll show you to the bathroom."

"We'll take it from here, Lincoln," Lori smiled, standing up and clicking the power-off button on her phone. She turned to me. "Come on, we'll show you to the bathroom. It's upstairs. And, you guys, if Abagail needs to use the bathroom, let her use it first. She's a guest, as Mom would say."

Leni also stood up, smiling in her perky grin, and she and Lori helped my weak body up the stairs. Lincoln skidded over to the bottom stair, yelling, "Pretty sure she can walk by herself!"

Luna, Luan, and Lisa were left to their devices in the living room. The latter two eyed each other suspiciously, then their hands instantly dove in for the cookies. But Luna slapped her sisters' hands away before they could even bite into one.

"Bogus, dudes! Not cool."

On the upstairs level of the house, there was a narrow hallway with seven doors, one on each end, and five along the sides. Lori guided me to the left side, where there was a bathroom with a similar checkered floor as the kitchen's. Leni tailed behind us, likely not having expected to do much.

"Here's our bathroom," smiled Lori, opening the door to present me to their cramped-up space they called a bathroom. "Not the finest bathroom, but, well, this house is kind of old. But, you're open to use it anytime you want—just be warned, there's often a line for the bathroom in the mornings. It literally gets irritating after a while. . . ."

I stepped into the bathroom, feeling the cold smoothness of the checkered tiles. There was a sink facing the door as soon as one would walk in, with a toilet right next to the door, and a bathtub with a shower curtain. A stack of two fresh white towels was on top of the rear of the toilet. There was a robe hanging from a hook on the door as well. From the looks of it, this bathroom would break down any second; I was surprised that it was still standing.

Leni sprinted up to the mirror, snagging some lipstick from the edge of the sink and eagerly applying it. The entire time I had been there, she had never failed to just . . . Look happy. It was a rarity to see any of my siblings happy around one another, they fought and warred far too much for me to be comfortable around them. Oddly enough, I felt more comfortable around Leni after spending a few minutes with her than I ever did around siblings I've spent my fourteen years of existence with. After all, Leni was the first one to try to convince Rita to let me stay.

"Leni? What're you doing?" Lori asked.

"Oh, I wanted to do my makeup," she answered, facing her sister with a grin.

"Maybe we should let Annabelle have the bathroom for a little bit so she can relax." Lori approached the tub, where she turned one of the knobs by the faucet. "Come over here, Anne. We'll show you how to work the bathtub."

Oh, that nickname again. Anne.

I held my hands out in front of my gut and sat on the edge of the tub with Lori.

"This knob on the left is the hot water, the one on the right is to make it cold," she explained, turning both knobs at the same time. "Turn the knobs left to turn the water on, turn right to turn it off."

She smiled at me again. I had been staring at my feet, too paranoid to make eye contact. No, I didn't hate her, but my social anxiety was quite obvious in this time. Never had I so badly felt . . . Welcomed, invited . . . Accepted.

Lori tapped my shoulder, and I looked up abruptly.

"You okay?" she asked, sounding a little worried.

Without warning, I lurched forward and wrapped my arms around Lori's waist, pulling her into a hug. I noticed how much taller she was than me; my older sister, who's seventeen years old, is only a couple inches taller than me, yet Lori might have been around that age and must have been 5'7, taller my puny 5'1 (probably). I'm not at all short for my age, nor tall, but Lori was definitely the latter.

"Uhh, what are you doing? Are you feeling okay?"

I lifted my face up to hers, tears flecking my eyelashes. "Thank you," I whispered, a small smile appearing. "So much." Tucking my hair behind my ear, I pulled away and tapped my index fingers together. "It's just . . . This family. You guys all seem to get along so well, and you're so nice even though I'm not worth letting inside—"

"Woah, woah. Take it easy." Lori sighed, panning her gaze to the right and patting my head. "It's literally our pleasure, there are thirteen people living in this house, after all." Her lips straightened. "You get comfortable around people very fast. Hugger, huh?"

I nodded. Leni was staring at us from the sink, her hands clasped together and held up against her face in an endearing way. "The guest is so nice!" she said, bubbly. "I want a hug, too. Group hug!"

Leni rushed over and slung her arms around Lori and me, squeezing our upper backs. I squeaked in discomfort, softly kicking my feet as a signal to stop. Lori pushed away from Leni, gasping for air. Now, I love hugs very much, but surprise hugs overwhelm me.

"Leni, stop. You're hurting her."

"O-M-Gosh, I'm so sorry!" Leni helped me regain my balanced posture. "So, like, how did you end up at our house?"

"It, um, goes back to a little less than an hour ago," I started, seating myself back on the edge of the tub, which Lori began to fill with steaming water. "I don't know what happened, but I just woke up along the side of the road mysteriously. No explanation, not a clue that hinted at how I ended up there. So I mentioned coming to the convenience store, and I ended up here—Wait, didn't I tell this story already?"

"Oh, yeah, I just forgot," Leni said nonchalantly. She beamed at me.

The bathroom began to fill with humid steam, fogging up the mirror and almost making it hard to breathe. "Bubbles?" Leni offered, holding up a white bottle.

"Yes, please, I'd love some," I answered, placing my hands on my chest graciously. I could hardly believe how well they were treating me already, considering I was some random stranger they'd never seen at their front door, begging for help. Though I knew it would be difficult for me to remember all the names of the family, I had a feeling that the Louds were not dysfunctional and uptight like my own. I had to give credit to Mr. and Mrs. Loud, they managed to stay together with so many children, while mine divorced at just three kids.

Shyly looking at the two older girls, I took the bottle of bubble solution.

Lori looked to Leni. "I think we should give her some privacy now," she whispered, taking her younger sister's hand and leading her out of the bathroom. They closed the door behind them, and I was all alone.

I took a brief breath, and opened the soap bottle to pour the solution into the water. Bubbles rose up like bread with excessive yeast in an oven, some drifting off into the air. They eventually filled the tub to the brim, and I took off my snow-dampened clothes (except my glasses), letting them slip down to the floor. I sank myself into the bathtub—

It was the best thing I'd ever felt in my life.

I hadn't relaxed in a warm, soothing bath since I was eight years old, when I started to take showers, and ever since I started middle school at age eleven, I had tons of stressed dumped on me every week with hardly any time to unwind. Showers were forced on me, and I've never really liked baths—but this was entirely different. The bubbles took me in as their own, like a womb of soap and comfort. I sighed and leaned back, bringing my knees up above the water. My skin softened, the numbness vanished, I could tell I was alive again. If I did believe in Heaven, this must have been what it's like.

I must have spent half an hour or so in the bath, because when I stepped out onto the cold tiles again to get a towel, I heard a knock. I tightened the towel around my waist and opened the door to see the two blonde twins, grinning widely at me.

"Hello, Annabelle," said the one in the glittering pink gown. It had almost seemed like her happiness was forced.

The twin next to her was the one with the red cap and overalls, who had a way less disturbing smile. "Sorry about Lola, she's not always too friendly," she said nonchalantly. "I'm Lana, this is Lola." She shook my hand, and I noticed that both the twins had gaps in their teeth from recently losing a couple. They reminded me of my six year old sister, Cindy, who looked almost exactly like Lola. Cindy has thin blonde hair and blue eyes, and even the gap in her teeth.

"Charmed," I smiled, bending down to their height to pat their heads. Indeed, both of them appeared very charming, endearing. After waving goodbye, they skipped down the hallway to their bedroom on the other end. I snagged the robe from the hook, then tried to wring out my hair and dry it as best as I could with the towel, and slung it around my neck, because it was always a strange habit of mine.

As soon as I exited the bathroom, I saw Rita coming up the stairs with a white basket full of folded laundry. She looked in my direction, poking her head out from behind the basket.

"Oh, good, you're out," she said, setting the laundry by the wall. "Is there anything else you want tonight, hon? All the kids are in their bedrooms, it's nearly bed time for them."

"No, thank you," I murmured, rocking back and forth on my feet. "I really just want to go to bed. Thank you, again, for letting me stay, even with how many children you have."

"Oh, it's no trouble. Would you like to sleep on the couch?"

My stomach churned. I have slept on a couch before, but it never ended well. Every time I do sleep on a couch, I always awaken so suddenly without any outside influence, and because of the incredibly dark, almost pitch-black area, it frightens me into full consciousness. I vividly recall a night when I fell asleep on a couch at someone else's house (which was my stepdad's before my divorced, middle-aged mother moved my siblings and me in with him and his three crazy children) and woke up in the middle of the night, alone, without knowing where anyone else was. The event has led me to hating sleepovers and sleeping on couches in general.

"Sleeping on couches scares me," I muttered, bringing my shoulders up to my jawlines. My dampened hair swept over my shoulders, partially concealing my face.

"Why's that?" said Rita gently.

"I'm . . . I don't like the dark." I admitted it with such fear and almost timidity. "If I'm alone, that is." The irony of my statement was very obvious, because anyone with the IQ of a mouse could determine that I spent a lot of time by myself and was not afraid of being alone. But, being alone still scares even the most independent folk.

"I can ask some of the kids if they'd be willing to let you sleep in their rooms. You can choose."

She named which kids were in which rooms and allowed me some time to think it over. I thought very carefully before making my final choice. My first judgement was on Luna and Luan, who were closest to my age, but it was clear that they were the loudest kids in a family with the last name 'Loud'. Not to mention, there was a drum set and Luna slept with headphones on. Headphones that blare unforgiving rock music are not my cup of tea in the slightest. Then I eliminated Lincoln's room, since his bedroom was so small it might as well have been a closet, and I wouldn't want to sleep in the same room as a boy. Lola and Lana's room was next to go, since they were the kind of siblings to fight over practically everything—and Lola also creeped me out, just a tiny bit. Lisa and Lily's room wasn't a very good choice, since the chemicals on Lisa's dresser frightened me, and Lily, according to Lisa, was prone to snoring.

And then there was Lynn and Lucy's room. That was an easy given, since Lucy, though being quiet and seemingly harmless, had so many gothic and fear-provoking things that I didn't even want to enter their room.

When all was said and all was done, Lori and Leni's room was the best choice, because I felt as though I was beginning to connect with them a little bit in the bathroom earlier that night. Also, unlike my two crude older sisters, they were a lot more . . . Gentle, soft. So Rita walked me down to their bedroom, where Lori was tapping endlessly on her phone screen and Leni was sitting crossed-legged on her bed, reading a trendy fashion magazine.

"Ahem, Lori? Leni?" Rita said, holding the door open just a crack so only she could be seen.

The teens looked up from their silent activities.

"Would you mind if Annabelle sleeps in here tonight?" Rita opened the door wider, and I stepped into the bedroom. An automatic whiff of nail polish and fresh perfume hit me, as if I was walking straight into a salon with gray-blue carpet and light cerulean walls. Lori and Leni's beds were sitting adjacent to one another, with a nightstand between them. There was a walk-closet close to Lori's bed, a hook fixed to the top with a few scarves twined around it. There was a vanity table covered in nail polish bottles and makeup supplies, and posters and photos were plastered on the back wall. In spite of the displeasing nail polish smell, this was the room I'd have most rather be in.

"I don't mind if she sleeps in here," said Leni, licking her finger and turning a page. She looked to Lori. "What do you think, Lori?"

Lori took a breath, then sighed, "Okay, fine. She can sleep in here for tonight."

I smiled up at Rita, who thanked the girls as she patted my head. She walked out, and flipped the nearest switch in the hallway that turned the lights out. Her bedroom was on the first floor, so she put her hand to the stair rail and stepped down carefully in the darkness. Nervously, I shifted my attention to the two blonde teens. My hands went into a bizarre posture out in front of me again, as I held my head low and shy.

Leni was first to come forward. She stuck a paperclip on the page she'd left off at, and grabbed my hand, towing me into the room. And goodness, was she strong.

"Welcome to our room," she enthused, spreading her arms as if she were presenting her life's work. "Let me get a sleeping bag for you, I think we have some in the closet." Leni closed the bedroom door and proceeded her unusual raptor-walk to the walk-in closet, and rummaged through a pile of random items until she turned up with a soft pink sleeping sack. "Here it is! I used this all the time when I went to my friends' houses for sleepovers. Isn't this fun, Lori? It's just like a sleepover!" She clapped her hands, amused.

"Yes, just like a sleepover," Lori chuckled, just briefly taking her eyes off her phone.

Leni set the sleeping bag up on the floor near a small table with a sewing machine, smoothing it out to the best of her ability. She picked me up by my upper arms and relinquished me onto the sleeping bag like a mother tucking her baby into bed at night. Leni buried herself under another pile of soft things in the closet again, returning with two silky blankets with the faint fragrance of mildly expensive perfume that almost made me sneeze. She threw one blanket over me hastily, then another.

"Hmm, what am I missing?" Leni thoughtfully tapped her chin. "Oh, right! You need pajamas. I think I have some night gowns that I've grown way too big for."

"Uhh, Leni, why didn't you put them in the hand-me-down box in the attic, then?" Lori asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know. I think I forgot." She smiled innocently.

"Oh, Leni," Lori grinned from her bed, clicking her tongue in a somewhat condescending manner. "Sweet, sweet Leni."

Leni glanced at Lori blankly.

Ten minutes later, the lights in the bedroom were out. I was dressed in a white nightgown with soft frills at the ends of the sleeves and bottom, similarly to Leni's. Lori had gone down to wash white, long sleeved shirt and bell-bottom pants a few minutes earlier. Leni had me in her arms on my sleeping bag and was humming a soothing lullaby to help me sleep (even though I never asked for one), and she'd cocooned me in both the blankets she got me. She was rocking me back and forth, gently stroking a part of the blanket as she continued to sing. And she wasn't a bad singer, she was decent, but I just felt a little strange that I was being sung a lullaby.

Lori looked up from her glowing phone screen to where my sleeping bag had been, then rolled her eyes. "Leni, she's literally fourteen, she doesn't need a lullaby," she remarked, sending a text to whoever was on the other end.

Leni ceased her melody and looked back at Lori. "But she's sick and tired," she yawned, her voice a little croaky. I admit that I had been enjoying Leni's affection, it was great to know that at least a few people cared for my well being at the time, particularly her and Rita. "Maybe a lullaby might help."

The girl's kindness brought tears to my eyes. Mucus dribbled out of my nose, and I sniffled. Leni noticed, then gasped, "Are you okay?"

I nodded, wiping my nose with my arm.

"I don't think she talks much, Lori," said Leni worriedly, reaching for a tissue from a box she'd retrieved a few minutes prior.

"She talked earlier when the whole family gathered around her," Lori responded dryly. "And in the bathroom. She might be selectively mute in most situations. Some people are like that."

"What does selectively mute mean?" Leni scratched her scalp as I blew my nose weakly.

"It means she chooses not to talk."

"Ohh. But, she was talking with Lisa, Luan, me, and Luna earlier." Leni abandoned the conversation and went back to her lullaby. At last, my eyelids started to drop, my consciousness subsided a little, and my body went limp, as if I'd fainted right then and there. Leni embraced me one last time, a little firm, then whispered, "Goodnight."

She allowed me to fall back on the sleeping bag, and she trudged over to her pink bed, shielding her eyes with her sleeping mask. She slipped under her covers, rolling onto her side and facing away from Lori's bed.

Lori turned her phone off, the light of it fading, and stretched out to put it on a night stand. She brought her covers up to her neck, sighing quietly.

Then she heard something airy and vocal—

"_Dancing bears, painted wings _

_Things I almost remember _

_And a song someone sings, _

_Once upon a December—"_

"Leni, quit singing," said Lori sharply, arising from her bed.

"I'm not singing," Leni said, lifting her mask. "Maybe Annabelle is."

Lori detected the voice from my direction, and her eyebrows lifted. The voice had been coming from the dark space across from their beds.

"_Someone holds me safe and warm _

_Horses prance through a silver storm—" _

I felt a hand on my shoulder. Lori and Leni were crouched beside me, awed expressions on their faces.

"You . . . Have beautiful singing," Lori whispered, sitting down cross-legged.

"You sing as good as Luna," Leni said, mimicking Lori's position.

I rose and sat on my knees, placing my hands at my sides. "R-Really?" I stammered, nervous.

"For a person who's practically mute"—Lori nodded—"Yes."

I blushed a little. Compliments tend to fluster me, especially if it's for something I find to be rather modest or not in my strong field. Quite frankly, I always thought my singing was awful.

"I'm sorry," I said, voice cracking. "I was singing. I forgot I'm not at home." Singing had helped me sleep, it never failed to soothe me. "It helps me fall asleep."

"Aw, don't be sorry," smiled Leni, becoming affectionate again. "You sing lovely. But, we have to go to bed now, so—"

The girls stood back up and walked to their beds, not taking their glinting eyes off of me. We finally all fell asleep when the last stir in bed was done.

**I will soon reveal something about Anna that won't shock anyone, given how she acts in this story. But I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Just **

**Note: I do not own _Once Upon a December. _The original lyrics belong to 20th Century Fox and Disney, since Disney buys everything. **


	2. Loud and Clear

**Chapter Two—Loud and Clear**

_"You're so anti-social."_

_"Get out of your own little bubble."_

_"You're too quiet."_

_"When will you just smile?"_

_"Stop being so meek."_

_"Why do you act so sad all the time?"_

_"Stop being so sensitive."_

_"You're so gullible."_

_"You must have autism."_

_"Come out."_

Come out.

Come out.

In the morning, the sun's gold-white light seeped through the translucent curtains of the bedroom, gilding the tufts of the carpet. The room had felt warmer than it had last night, with the fan slowly circling and blowing little breeze. I stirred and opened my eyes, hearing Leni quietly snoring from her bed, and seeing Lori asleep with her mouth ajar. My hair had fully dried overnight, though it was frizzy like an old rug, and had been parted upon not being brushed in some time. Softly moaning, I rose, allowing the blankets to slither off my chest. I licked my lips; my mouth tasted foul, ill morning breath like rotting mold, and I felt a stiffness in my calves. My nose was clogged with gross mucus, a soreness lingering against the back of my throat.

Well, at least I wasn't freezing in the streets.

I glanced at the digital clock on the night stand. It was 7:26 A.M. I was quite surprised I hadn't slept longer, given how exhausted and weak and frail I was the previous day. Today wasn't much better, but at least it was an improvement. I stood up, the bottom of the night gown dropping down to my knees, and slowly tiptoed to the bedroom door. Not a sound was made upon doing so, the two older girls didn't wake up. I twisted the doorknob and stepped out—

Quiet.

In a place commonly known as the Loud house, it was exceedingly silent. It looked like no one was up, there were no messes, no sounds of footsteps, nothing. I figured I must have woken up too early, until I heard the faint sound of high whistling coming from my left.

The bathroom door at the end of the hallway swung open, Lincoln striding out. He opened his eyes, breaking from his casual formal walk and noticed I was awake.

"Oh, wow, I had no idea you'd be awake this early," he said, approaching me closer. "Lori and Leni always sleep in, but Dad—I mean, our Dad—starts making breakfast at 8." The shorter boy wore a friendly smile, chipped tooth showing. I just stood there, my hands in a raptor-like position.

"Uh, you okay?" He waved a hand in front of my face, breaking my short stupor.

I nodded quickly.

"So, do you talk at all? How do you even—"

"Y-Yes, I talk," I said, cutting Lincoln off.

"Ohh. How do you make friends?"

Inhaling, I prepared to answer—

"It builds. It just . . . Builds, someone begins to talk to me and I gradually get to know them. I really do talk, Lincoln, more than you realize."

"Hmm, okay." Lincoln seemed to be satisfied with my answer. "Let's go downstairs. I want to show you my favorite show, called _Arggh_!"

"What?" Quite frankly, I am not familiar with too many shows, because I was the kind of kid who watched cartoons her whole life and never got her innocence ruined by watching PG-13 movies at age nine. I prefer animation over live action, because when I was at an especially young age, reality was a bore. Not that it still isn't.

Lincoln took my hand and guided me down the stairs, then to the sofa. "Starts just about now," he said, swiping the TV remote and clicking the red power button to activate the television. "Arggh! is the greatest show ever, you're going to love it."

"Why is it called '_Arghh_!'?"

"It stands for 'Academy of Really Good Ghost Hunters," answered Lincoln, as the show started. "We're pretty lucky we were up before my sisters, because they always fight over the TV. And their shows are lame."

I began to ponder what sort of shows Lisa, Lucy and Luan liked to watch. I wanted to agree with Lincoln on his sisters' shows being lame, but it only made me curious.

"Wait. Ghosts?" I murmured, a tint of fear and disbelief in my voice.

"Yeah. Aren't they cool?"

"I'm scared of ghosts . . ."

"You are—?"

"Ugh! My hair is so tangled! I look like a dump truck full of failed dolls!"

I recognized the shrill voice to be none other than Lola's, as she stamped down the stairs indignantly, her hair a matted mess. She glided to the sofa and had a cross look on her face, directed towards Lincoln.

"Oh . . . You think because a guest is here with you, you can watch whatever you want, eh?" Lola suspected, narrowing her eyes. "Well, two can play at that game. Scooch over, Lincoln, only a superstitious fool would watch something as low-quality as _Arggh_."

I instantly felt uncomfortable. Last night, the siblings all seemed to get along well enough (save the twins), but now seeing the first one I met getting into a fight unnerved me a little.

"How 'bout we watch _Prison Pageants,_ Annabelle, darling?" Lola offered, daintily claiming the remote as her own and switching the channel to her aforementioned show. "Trust me, season three is where things get tight."

Prison Pageants honestly didn't interest me too much either.

"Lola! I had the remote first! You should have woken up earlier if you wanted it so bad," Lincoln snapped.

Lola scoffed condescendingly. "Oh, _hush_, Linky."

This was exactly like a sibling fight at home, especially between my sister and any given younger sibling, or even me. She'd always blurt the word 'hush' at one of us if she had no other argument to throw out, but luckily, I just avoided her, so I never fought with her all too much. I don't mean to be a stuck-up person of gossip, but she has quite a problem of losing her temper over the smallest things and lashing out uncontrollably. It frequently got her in trouble, the lack of self awareness. And it never failed to intimidate or even anger me. While the fight was familiar, it was also far different—It was a fight between two siblings of a family I didn't even know.

Lincoln finally managed to snag the remote with his greater strength, lightly shoving Lola off the arm of the couch. "Ha, yes!" he cheered victoriously. "And now, witness my victory dance—"

"Ugh, if you'd like to lose your dignity," Lola retorted, getting back up.

"I . . . I've had enough television, thank you," I stammered, halfway standing up from the sofa. "I'm just going to go to the kitchen, you know, to, um . . . Yeah." My sick dry lips curled to a soft smile, and I went into the kitchen.

"Well, that was weird," I heard Lincoln say to Lola, and they fought over the remote again.

The dining room was rather small for a house full of thirteen or so people. There was a long, black wooden table with chairs lined up against it—five on each of the longer sides, one on one end, and two on the other end, presumably for the parents. I stalked into the kitchen, where I heard the sounds of dishes rattling and sink water gushing. Lynn Sr. was rocking his head and humming an unfamiliar tune that related to making breakfast or something, while he scrubbed at stubborn food stains on a gleaming porcelain plate. I stepped quietly into the kitchen, since I have a strange talent for being quiet as possible if I don't have heavy shoes on.

Then I felt a strong tingle in my nose, like someone had held up a pepper shaker to my nose, and I sneezed again.

Lynn Sr. turned from his dishes. "Oh, hey, there," he said, still looking friendly as ever. "Didn't think you'd be up this early, hardly anyone is except Lisa or Lincoln." He chuckled quietly. "Ya like pancakes?"

I nodded, rubbing the back of my wrist, and pulled my draping hair behind my shoulders.

"Do you like eggs, too?" Lynn asked.

I shook my head. Most people love eggs, but I, for one, despise them. They're revolting and odious to me.

"Oh." He gave his head a queer little tilt and frowned. "Can you, well, verbally respond?"

Truly, he wasn't asking me that . . . My own relatives are always pushing me to respond with words rather than mannerisms, and it pains me to speak in such situations as these. I prefer to communicate and answer questions with easily understood gestures, since it's much less difficult for me in a situation where I have to deal with complete strangers. Of course, I have been scolded for this oh-so-heinous act they seem to view it as, many, many times. But, I really can't help it. It's just who I had been, and who I am now.

"Um . . . O-Okay," I murmured finally, with a little nervous grin. "Talking is pretty hard."

Lynn Sr. put on his queer, confused look again, as if to say that I was talking right then and there. I scooted awkwardly out of the kitchen and made my way into the dining room, which was still empty of people. I pulled out the lonely chair at the very end of the table and sat in it, propping my cheek up on my palm. This had ought to be the strangest and most socially challenging situation I'd ever been in. A normal person would have talked so much more, expressed every detail about himself, looked in every nook and cranny for something he hadn't said. It was difficult for me to accept that under these circumstances, everything I did, everything I said would have to be controlled, no matter how much tension I was yearning to release at every moment. I genuinely enjoy talking and conversing with other individuals about deep topics, meaningful themes, but being separated from a place where I could get help and go home was suppressing the words I wanted to say—

"Hut, hut! Take a hike, Stinkoln!"

I jolted out of my chair and stared into the living room, where Lynn Jr. was dashing towards the couch with a football, aiming her hand toward Lincoln. Lincoln yelped and bolted out of his seat, but Lynn had manipulated him into giving up his spot in front of the television. Lynn unleashed a victorious little chuckle and switched to a snore-fest football channel. I don't understand why people, men in particular, go off-the-walls insane over these petty sports games—they paint themselves with the theme colors of their favorite sports teams, they shout maniacally when the team either scores or loses, and they are just plain overbearing and obnoxious at games. I don't attend games, but I've been to a few, and they're quite annoying, I tell you. I bet I have partially gone deaf due to school pep rallies and loud sports games.

Lynn cozied up against the back cushions of the couch, head held up on her crossed arms. She grinned and widened her eager eyes as she watched her game. Really, there has to be something more entertaining, more insightful and thought-provoking than watching people wrestle over a giant leather lemon. But, some people enjoy that kind of thing, I suppose, and who am I to judge?

I stiffly walked back into the living room, figuring there was nothing more to do. Lincoln stood back up and hunched his back. "Lynn, I was watching the TV!" he exclaimed indignantly. "I've already fought Lola over it, I can't fight you, too!"

"Suck it up, Linc, you gotta deal with this once in a while," said Lynn, shifting her gaze over to him.

I just stood there on the place where the green carpet and the tile floors met. The two siblings looked in my direction.

"And look at that, we have a guest who had to witness our fight," Lincoln snapped, causing Lynn to frown a little. Lynn hissed in guilt and jumped down from the sofa. "C'mere, you can choose what you want to watch."

I knew someone would say that eventually. Every time a choice gets left up to me, I get nervous, because I have always been too quiet to speak up and contribute to a family decision. At least, in more recent years. One of these decisions I'd sometimes have to make was choosing a movie to watch on television, but every time someone gave the remote to me, I'd shrug it off and say I didn't want to watch anything.

"N-No, you take the TV," I said, holding my hands up.

Lincoln looked confused. "Wow, I never thought I'd see the day when a kid doesn't want to fight over the television channel." He smiled and took the remote, and changed the channel. I joined him and Lynn on the sofa, me sitting as far away as possible from them. Every minute or so, I'd release a loud, deep cough or a kitten sneeze, startling Lincoln each time. My immune system is very strong, but I suppose it wasn't agreeing with the cold weather this time around, unfortunately.

After a few minutes, the other Loud sisters came down one by one—first came Lisa, as she formally greeted Lincoln, Lynn and I with a research clipboard. Then came Lana (with a vivacious pet frog named Hops), then Luan, and Luna, Lucy, Lori, Leni, and last, Rita woke up and went up to wake Lily and bring her downstairs. All the kids came to the sofa with us, while Lynn Sr. started cooking breakfast a little before 8 A.M.

As soon as Lily was put with us, Lincoln switched the television channel to a romantic dating show and said, "One of our favorite shows is The Dream Boat. Here, one of the best episodes is on!"

I was quite taken by surprise at Lincoln's enthusiasm for this show. It seemed very feminine, but I guess living around ten girls has given him some peculiar interests. I was just hoping he didn't get teased for appreciating The Dream Boat. On television, a brunette girl with very curly hair and a roundish, babyish face (similar to mine) was having to choose between six young men, each one varying in size, hair color, clothing style, and interest. All of the Loud children were absolutely invested, but I found it hard to pay attention for even five seconds. Luna, Lori and Lincoln tried their best to get me to focus, but it was too difficult. The rest of the siblings, besides Lily, began to question why on Earth I wasn't fascinated by the show like they were.

At last, Lynn Sr. came into the living room with an apron around his neck, announcing breakfast. "Breakfast time!"

Everyone on the sofa erupted in cheers, while I just stood up slowly, confused. Lincoln got ahold of my wrist and pulled me into the dining room. "What's going on? Why is everyone so excited?" I asked.

Lincoln practically shoved me into a seat at the end of the long table, popping out from behind the back of the chair. "Our dad cooks the best dishes," he explained, as the sisters all eagerly took their seats and Rita set out plates and silverware. "Trust me, you are goin'a be hooked when you have the first bite." He sat in the chair perpendicular to mine, as Luan sat next to me as well.

Lynn Sr. strolled into the dining room, his apron off, and his hands both occupied by a towering stack of thick, fluffy pancakes and repulsive-smelling eggs—though, to the Louds, they smelled pretty good. I focused on the pancakes, and they were like no other pancakes I'd ever even beheld. They were neatly stacked, had a flawless, brown-orange flat surface, and were perfectly edged with the outer white. Everything about them looked so pleasing, alluring to the taste.

Rita brought a bottle of natural maple syrup to the table, and folded napkins for everyone. She then buckled Lily to a booster seat on one of the chairs. Finally, the two adults took their master seats at the other end of the table; we were ready to dine.

"Alright, everyone, dig in!"

The other kids all leapt over each other just to have the syrup bottle in their possession first, as I just sat there, waiting my turn. Instead of an argument, though, it was excited chatter and eager moans. Everyone, except me, scooped eggs onto the plates, and Rita had to intervene a literal toothy match of tug-of-war between Lynn and Lana over the pancake plate. She suggested the idea of passing it around, which we all did, and I was one of the last to receive my pancake. The syrup bottle was passed around us as well, so I drizzled my own pancake in the sweet substance.

And, oh my, was Lincoln telling the honest truth. The pancakes were twice as good as any my own father could make, and that is quite an achievement, since my father is also a dedicated culinary artist. Once I started eating the pancake, I realized how long it had been since I had last eaten, and I felt as though my appetite would never be satisfied again. I didn't notice half the Loud children staring at me until I was almost done eating.

"Dude, even we don't eat Dad's food like that," said Luna, agape.

I swelled red and swallowed my mouthful. It wasn't often I ate like such a pig, since my appetite is about the size of a mouse. Everyone returned to their own meals, as I just sat there for a moment, facing my plate, and proceeded eating.

The Louds started a conversation amongst each other, starting with the parents asking each child what big plans were taking place after they got back to school from winter break. The teens in high school mentioned there being huge tests over a lesson unit or projects due, and the younger ones had nothing particularly worrisome on their plates—figuratively, of course.

"The school's offered me to play the national anthem over the intercom the first day we get back," Luna smiled, eyes glinting with hope.

"That's fantastic, sweetie!" said Rita.

"There's a big sports game on the Friday after winter break," said Lynn.

"We'll be there," Lynn Sr. responded.

Everyone boundlessly bounced sentence after sentence off each other. A few times, Lincoln and Luan tried to pull me into conversation, but to no avail. Simply put, I was not being talkative.

The entire family finished breakfast in a matter of time, and they dabbed their lips with napkins. "Breakfast was delicious, honey," Rita complemented, briefly pecking Lynn Sr. on the cheek.

"Thanks, Rita." He stood from his chair. "You're all excused, go relax, it's still Christmas break."

The Loud kids all leapt up from their seats and dispersed, then I felt a mildly cold hand grab my wrist and yank me into the living room. Lincoln had pulled me to the sofa for another episode of The Dream Boat. "Oh, good! We left off right at a good part."

"Uhh, Lincoln, I—I'm not feeling too invested in this show," I whispered at such a low volume.

"Wait, what? I thought every girl in the world loves this show! Even Lynn and Lucy like it."

I shook my head. "I just . . . Don't really see it the way you do. I'm sorry."

Lincoln grinned. "It's okay, I guess. Hey, I think you and Lisa would be great friends."

"Huh? Who?"

"Lisa's the one with glasses," Lincoln explained. "Here, I'll take you to her, she's right next to my room."

We went up the black wood stairs together, then turned right on the long red carpet rug and entered Lisa's room. Lisa was perched on her stool at her dresser, alone, toying with test tubes and other laboratory tools. She turned from her activities and said, "Greetings, Lincoln and guest. Oh, would you mind stepping in here, for one moment?"

"Uhh, sure, Lisa." Lincoln led me into the bedroom, and Lisa darted up and shut the door. "Lisa? Why'd you shut the door?"

Lisa adjusted her glasses. "I'd like to give our guest a small inquiry session," she said, spit flying from her mouth. "No experiments, as Mother has told me, but she said nothing about asking questions. Follow me, Miss Annabelle, take a seat on my lab stool."

I hesitantly stepped up to the lab stool and sat down. "Good," Lisa grinned, swiping a clipboard from Lily's crib. She hopped onto the edge with one of the walls clipped down. Lincoln had this blatantly confused expression on his face, and he approached me.

"Now, just a few questions. Name your Myer-Briggs personality type."

"Umm, INFP," I answered, tapping both my feet.

Lisa muttered incoherent words to herself, but what I heard was: "Most definitely introverted . . . Prone to negative emotions and tear glands watering, feeling . . . Perception, positive."

She looked back up with one last peck of her pen. "Good. Any physical disabilities, bladder dysfunctions, appetite issues, etcetera?"

"No," I coughed. "But I'd appreciate some cold medicine or something—"

"Any mental issues? Disorders? Allergies I must be aware of?"

"I don't want to talk about it with Lincoln in the room."

Lisa wore a false smile and put her hands up to Lincoln's back, trying to push him out of the room. "Thank you, Lincoln," she said, reaching for the doorknob.

"Lisa, wait! I wanted to keep her company!" Lincoln snapped, turning back around and stamping his foot.

"Actually, I just don't want to talk about it at all. Thank you, Lisa." I left the stool vacant, and I left the bedroom with Lincoln.

"Can I show you my coin collection? I collect lots of coins from all over the world!" Lincoln enthused, guiding me to his bedroom perpendicular to Lisa's. We went into the room together, and he rummaged through a dresser to pull out a big book full of exotic-looking coins.

"See, this one's from Poland," he said, pinching the end of one coin and pulling it out. He set it back and carefully fished out another. "This one's from Ireland, one of my favorites." Lincoln began to point to different coins and label their countries of origin. "That one's from Canada, Scotland, Denmark . . ."

Honestly, I was a little bit interested in the coins. Foreign objects almost never failed to capture my interest, since there can usually be so much history and background behind them. Lincoln and I sat on the factory together, and he showed me some other fascinating items he had collected.

"This is my model spaceship—my puzzles, my DS—oh, and here's Bun-Bun, I'm sure you remember him." Lincoln reached over to the bed and presented Bun-Bun, a small stuffed bunny with a red polo shirt on it. He held it out to me, and I took it in my hands. Bun-Bun was quite small, he could quite literally sit atop the palm of my hand, and that says a lot, since my hands are smaller than most people's hands are at my age. The bunny reminded me of a gray-purple bear I had kept with me for years, one whom I simply called Teddy. Teddy always looked dirty and dusty, but I still had loved her as a sentimental object. I tipped my glasses up and brushed my fingers against the bunny's shirt, its floppy limbs dangling between the gaps of my fingers like ivy. I held Bun-Bun close, like the way I used to hold Teddy when I was a little three year old.

"Uhh . . . Bun-Bun?"

My eyes opened and I quickly gave the bunny back to Lincoln. I couldn't blame him for having Bun-Bun still, since I still had my fair share of valued toys, even as a high school student.

"I know this room's pretty small, but it's my own space, and I love it," said Lincoln, standing and spreading his arms. "Do you have any siblings, too?"

I nodded and held up eight fingers.

"Woah, that's a lot, but less than I have, I wish I could relate. Do you ever talk to them?"

"Mhmm," I answered, without opening my lips.

"You're not talking to us much, though. Is there anything wrong?"

I shook my head no. The Louds were all so friendly, so lovable, but I just couldn't speak around them, I don't know why. Maybe it was because they were new people, and I was in a new setting where I needed directions or guidance to actually navigate.

"So, uhh—Annabelle, that's your name—what do you like to do? What stuff do you like?"

I looked around the room for a brief moment, and I found some crumpled up notebook paper right under Lincoln's bed. I pulled it out and tried my best to get it straightened out, then I made a gesture across it, resembling pencil movements.

"You . . . Like to write?"

I nodded, then pretended to draw a picture of a heart with my finger.

"And draw?"

"Mhmm."

"You know, you can just talk," Lincoln frowned, setting a hand on my shoulder.

Panic.

My sweat glands opened, and I felt a coldness sweep over my body, but at the same time I felt like I was overheating. A headache pulsed in my forehead.

"Umm."

Lincoln took his hand off of me. The weird feeling subsided. "You okay?"

I pursed my lips, nodding.

"Lincoln, quick! I need a sparring partner and Luna said no!"

Lincoln sprang up into the air, startled. "Lynn, no! I'm showing Annebelle my room!"

Lynn Jr. busted into Lincoln's room by kicking the door straight open. She extended her leg and struck Lincoln in the chest, and he grunted and fell to the ground. "Lynn!" he snapped, standing up and flinging his fists behind him.

"No time, Lincoln, need a sparring partner." Lynn struck him again, this time in the gut.

"But—why—" Lincoln sank to the floor, clutching his stomach and groaning.

I could not stand seeing Lincoln being beat up.

Just before Lynn was about to punch him, I threw my arms around him and pulled him away. I knew exactly how Lincoln felt—my older sisters always picked on me and were even downright physically overbearing. Something sparked in me that moment, something that made me want to protect Lincoln, and be his knight in shining glasses. Lynn was shorter than me, and only a little bit taller than her brother, but she looked rather threatening.

"Don't . . . Don't hurt him," I mumbled, tightening my grip on Lincoln. It kind of hurt me to see him writhe in pain, after all he'd done for me so far.

Lynn stared at her feet, as if they had suddenly become more interesting than the situation itself. Then, she finally said "Oh," and walked out of the room.

Lincoln and I stood there in silence for at least twenty seconds. After those seconds were up, he stared up at me in awe, in wonder, almost admiration—the way a princess stares at her hero, the way a child stares at someone he looks up to and reveres so boundlessly.

"Is that—You did—What the—"

He fell silent.

"No one ever convinces Lynn to stop being so aggressive," he finished, blank. "Thank you."

I suppose being a negotiating middle child really was a gift.

"You're . . . Welcome," I said, releasing him and stepping back. "It wasn't anything. I have to do that all the time at home."

"Wow. Even I can't do that. Hey, being a peaceful middle child pays off, huh?"

Indeed, I am a middle child. Only two of my siblings share both the same parents as me, and I was the second born. Of course, I preferred to not get mixed up in the shenanigans of my younger sister, or attempt to meet the unrealistically high standards of my older sister. But after my parents divorced and brought in step-siblings and half-siblings into the mix, I was the closest to being the middle of nine children. All my siblings didn't meet each other—my parents lived at separate houses and the half-siblings and step-siblings never even saw each other. However, over at my mother and stepfather's place, I had been the very middle child, and often acted like the stereotypical middle child as well. Perhaps it was a gift, but it was also a blessing. I am the most asocial of all my siblings, after all.

So, yes, being a middle child did pay off in the end, I guess.

Lincoln looked like he was deep in thought. "Why do I have a feeling you'd be best friends with Luan and Leni?" he mused, tapping his chin, which was sprouting with tiny, hardly visible white hairs.

"Perky, happy-person-paired-with-quiet-person dynamic," I said mindlessly.

Lincoln brightened. "Aha! I got you to talk! Oh yeah!" He made some bizarre little rhythm movement with his arms that involved throwing them in the air. "Why do you not talk much?"

There was no way I was ready to tell him the real reason yet.

"I don't know," I lied.

"What? There has to be some reason."

"I . . . I don't know." I sighed and rubbed my elbow. Lincoln reached up and patted my shoulder tentatively.

"It's okay, I understand. Shy, huh?"

So, I left it at that. I won't deny that I am very timid, but who could blame me after being mysteriously sent far from home with no explanation?

"Come on, I think if anyone can bring you out of your shell, it would be Luan," Lincoln said cheerily, bringing me out of his room and swinging his arm around my waist gently. "You met her—the one who loves to tell jokes. Oh, she can be a bit annoying, but she's cool. Come on, it's okay. I'll tell her not to throw a pie at you."

The way he spoke so casually about a pie being thrown at me kind of set me off. Was being pranked cruelly a normal thing for him? Well, I could kind of relate. My step sister always took advantage of my gullible nature for her own amusement. But she didn't do it in a well meaning way, unlike Luan. Luan seemed to mean well with her cheesy dad jokes and thoughtless puns. My step sister—oh, goodness, was she ill-intentioned.

"But you might also want to watch out for her shaving your eyebrows off, Lori's always a victim of that one. And don't fall for signs directing you to the bathroom, that's targeted at Leni—broken music instruments for Luna, dysfunctional sports equipment for Lynn—"

"I think I—got it," I said with the brightest smile I could put on. Not that I didn't like Lincoln; I truly did enjoy him talking to me, and I appreciated his advice, just, I had no idea how to take it in or react right. Should I smile? Accept the advice casually? Rudely say I don't need help?

Verbal directions are difficult for me to take.

"Their room's this way, if you don't remember." Lincoln led me like a tour guide to Luna and Luan's room, where Luna was writing song lyrics (with a bit of struggle) and Luan was setting up a microphone on a false comedy show stage. She was holding a wooden dummy with a blue outfit and a yellow hat, and it had a queer, somewhat offsetting countenance.

"How do you save a forest, Mr. Coconuts?" Luan asked, directed at her dummy. She put her teeth together and subtly put her lips aside for her ventriloquism.

"I don't know, wooden you like to know!" Mr. Coconuts exclaimed, flailing his little arms.

Luan unleashed her perky, giddy, charming little giggle. "Good one, Mr. Coconuts."

"Uhh, hi, girls," Lincoln greeted, poking his head through the doorway.

"Hey, little bro," said Luna, looking up from her lyrics. "What's up?"

"Wouldn't you like to know Annabelle a little better?" He attentively brought me into their view.

"Ooh! Another comedy volunteer!" Luan skipped over to the doorway and grabbed my hand, yanking me into her bedroom. She set me up on her comedy stage with a bright spotlight, adjusting the microphone, which made an ear-jarring sound.

"Luan? Uhh—"

"Lincoln, it'll be fine," Luan reassured her brother, clinging to the door. "I have to prepare for a comedy routine. See you in a bit!"

"But—!"

Luan cut him off by slamming the door, then she went up to the stage with me. Luna peered back up again, frowning.

"Who would wanna join your comedy routine?" she remarked, eyes narrowed a little. "Not everybody's cut out for comedy or being on a stage."

"Pshh." Luan scoffed and looked back to me, but I had already stepped off the stage and I was heading for the door. "Wait!"

I stopped and turned back. There was no way I was prepared to stand on a stage in front of two girls I hardly knew. Stage fright had also been a big problem I struggled against, and still is. Luan and Luna were likely just fine on a stage, with their boisterous natures and extroverted hobbies.

"Don't you wanna be part of my comedy routine?" Luan asked, frowning a little.

"No . . . Thanks," I spoke. "I have stage fright."

"Oh, that's okay, little dudette," said Luna carefully. "You know, I had to deal with stage fright when I first started playing music. It's tough to get through, I know." She glared back at Luan. "And some people shouldn't push little stage-frighties out of their comfort zones too hard."

"Oh, come on, I wasn't pushing that hard!"

I pulled the bottom of my nightgown lower and I waved back to the girls as politely as possible, leaving. "Bye, bye!" I heard Luan say just before I shut the door.

So now now what—

"Hello, mortal."

"Gah!"

Lucy had popped up and scared me. Perhaps it was her dark, greasy dome of black hair that creeped me out, or the fact that she never revealed her eyes. Upon realizing her presence, a dark organ sound rung out of nowhere, which I discarded, since I was distracted by my rise in adrenaline. I had winced when Lucy appeared, and then she looked mildly regretful.

"Oh, sorry. I know our mom told me not to scare you," she said, her cold, emotionless voice never once leaving. "I've written a poem, can you judge?"

I instantly grew happy. This is strange, but I really adore poetry. It's a beautiful art form, though it's slowly dying out. I was glad that at least one person still appreciated it.

"Uhh, sure, I love poetry," I answered, putting my hands close to my heart, bending my knees. "What is it?"

Lucy reached into her back pocket, reemerging with a slip of paper. She cleared her throat and began: "Miss, I thought you were strange, when you seemingly came here remiss, now it's a big change." She looked up at me (or so to speak, her bangs still covered her eyes), waiting for my approval.

"Was—that poem for me?" I asked.

"Yes."

I tapped my chin thoughtfully, smiling a little. It flattered me that Lucy had written a poem about my new arrival to her household, I wasn't used to be written about, or even talked about. "It was beautiful," I grinned, hugging Lucy mindlessly. Then I recognized what I was doing, and pulled away. "Oh. . . Sorry."

"It's okay. I'm glad you liked the poem." For the first time, Lucy's lips curled to something that resembled a smile, and walked off. I stood right there in that hallway, reevaluating my first impression of Lucy. She probably wasn't such a bad girl, maybe she was actually very nice; after all, she wrote a poem for me.

So I proceeded down the hall, but I had only taken a few steps when I felt two masses against my hips. The twins, Lola and Lana, were smiling brightly, each one at my sides. Judging by the way things had been going, I supposed that they wanted to pull me into their activities.

"Do you like tea?" Lola asked in a forced polite tone. "We're having a tea party in my room, with all my dollies. Care to attend?"

Lana glared at Lola. "No, we were going to play with Hops!"

"Ugh, no real girl would want to play with frogs." Lola scoffed toward Lana and dragged me into their bedroom. She sat me down in a tiny chair that could quite possibly break under my weight, then grasped the handle of a teapot and poured steaming tea into a porcelain cup. She slid the saucer over, dropping in a couple of sugar cubes.

"Drink up, it's best when it's hot," insisted Lola, pouring her own tea. "Oh, and make sure to lift your pinkie when you drink, it shows etiquette."

Unbeknownst to me, I'd already lifted my pinkie when I had started sipping my tea. Sometimes, I lift my pinkie without even realizing it when I am drinking from a cup.

"Now, let's have a little table talk, shall we?" Lola panned to the side, where Lana stood crossing her arms, but she disregarded Lana and proceeded. "Any particular interests you have, Lady . . . Hmm, Annabellington!"

The new name sounded odd, but I accepted it as my pretend title. Lola stood from her chair and glided to a shelf stocked with glittering tiaras, scanning through. She finally selected one, a tiara littered in glitter and fake diamonds, before approaching me again and placing it upon my head. "Very lovely," she admired, bending her elbow and placing it on the palm of her other gloved hand. "Lana, what do you think?"

Lana slumped down in a chair next to me, pouting. "She's not ugly, but the tiara is, like all tiaras. Lola, can we please play with—"

"Shh shh shh." Lola pressed a finger to Lana's mouth, subduing her once again. "It's tea time." She suddenly wore a wide, sinister grin, exposing the gap in her teeth. "And nobody disturbs tea time."

I flinched in discomfort, almost spilling a drop of tea on my nightgown. I was beginning to think of many sordid things Lola could have been capable of: murder, perhaps? Blackmail? Putting pineapple on pizza?

Lana rolled her eyes. "If we're gonna have a tea party and I'm not able to do anything, can I at least bring one small animal to the table?" She leaned backward, barely keeping herself from falling by sticking the tips of her feet under the brim of the table.

"Fine," Lola sighed. "Just make sure it doesn't pee on anything. This tablecloth is expensive, you know."

"Great!" Lana crawled to her bed, where she pulled out a small, limp green lizard. "This is Izzy," she introduced, plopping back down in her chair. "One of my best friends. You want some cookies, Izzy?" Lana looked down at her lizard. Izzy was just limp in her hands, flicking her tongue every few seconds or so. Lana looked to me. "You wanna hold her? She won't bite."

I held my hands out, tilting my head lightly, and Lana gently pressed Izzy into my palm. She was thin, but had a long tail and a green, slender, scaly body. I quite enjoyed holding her, she crawled up my forearm, up to my shoulder, through my hair, pushing long brown strands out of her way like stage curtains. I tried to hold in a spine shiver when she swept her tail across the back of my neck. Izzy popped back out around my other shoulder, scaling down my right arm and making her way back to Lana's hand.

"Nice," she said, placing Izzy on her shoulder.

"Yes, very cute, Lana, but we have tea to sip," Lola brought up, pouring me another cup of tea after I'd finished my first. I dropped two white sugar cubes into the tea, ensuring it was a little extra sweet.

"Mmm, you like your tea sweetened, don't you," Lola commented. She leaned close. "Lemme tell you a secret: I absolutely cannot live without mint-flavored tea. It's to die for."

I had actually never tried mint tea before that point, but I took her word for it anyway.

"I like mud tea!" Lana exclaimed, oddly enthusiastic for her filthy preference. "It's the best kind of tea."

Lola gagged while she had the brim of her cup to her lips, and set it down. "You're pretty quiet, aren't you?" she said to me, dabbing her upper lip with a handkerchief.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, I decided to speak again. "Umm, I guess."

Lana and Lola cheered simultaneously, standing and throwing their fists in the air. "She does talk! Yes, oh yes, oh yes!"

"Y-Yeah. I'm just gonna—"

While they were left being unnecessarily overjoyed at the fact that I had spoken, I left the room and went to the stairs diagonal to it. I scaled my palm across the varnished black railing, jumping the last two stairs and faltering before sitting on the sofa—

"And I was literally so mad at her, like, she tried to steal my boo-boo bear from m—"

Lori stalked into the living room from the stairs and jolted on seeing my presence. She had her cell phone pressed to her ear, and I could hear a girl on the other end of the line trying to recapture her attention frantically.

"I have to go, Whitney," she said, before pressing the red hangup button on her phone screen. Lori approached me slowly, smiling. "Hey."

"Uh—Hi," I murmured, shifting a little.

Lori took a seat next to me, almost looking sympathetic. "You okay? Do you want me to . . . Try and call your parents?"

The mention of my parents struck me. My eyes were bulging with water, the wetness seeping out and flecking the curves of my eyelashes. I turned my head to Lori.

"I don't remember their numbers."

Lori hugged me briefly. "I'm sorry. It'll literally be okay. Wanna come up to my room and know some girl advice?"

I pursed my lips. "What's girl advice?"

"You know, just general advice for . . . Well. Being a girl. It's hard to explain."

Lori grabbed ahold of my hand and brought me upstairs to her room, where Leni was perched on her bed, painting her toenails. I thought it to be useless to paint your toenails unless you wear sandals or flip flops all the time. Leni also had several eyeshadow brushes laid out in front of her, sponges meant for applying coverup, and blush brushes.

"Hi, Lori," she greeted calmly, finishing a turquoise coat of polish on her pinkie toe. "And hi, Anita."

"Her name is Annabelle," Lori corrected.

"Oh, right." Leni went back to stroking her toenails with the brush, the rich scent of polish once again filling the room. She looked up at me after a second or two, seeming to be carefully discerning my face—my wide, clueless eyes, then my cheeks, then my thin pink lips. "Hmm, you know, you would look really good with natural makeup colors."

"W—W—" I struggled to collect my words—My knees were bending, my back was hunched a little, and I was rubbing the back of my little hand.

I felt a firm hand on my shoulder just as sweat was damming up at my pores to be let out. Lori pat it gently, backhandedly encouraging me to speak.

"Really?" I'd worn makeup before this point, but just coverup and pink lip gloss. Nothing unnatural or anything considered overboard, just so that you could barely tell I was wearing makeup at all. Something told me that Leni wanted to drag me into one of those makeup and plastic surgery montages seen in movies or TV shows about social hierarchies and acceptance.

"Mhmm." Leni finished a final flick of her polish brush and put it away, wiggling the toes of her right feet. "A lot of people hate makeup, but I don't know why."

"Vanity," I said plainly. "They think it's vain."

Leni shrugged. Well, I wasn't too surprised with her response, she seemed to be nonchalantly bubbly about everything. It reminded me of a certain demeanor I often portrayed in public, around people I knew. A demeanor I knew, one that everyone knew and liked.

"Here, girl advice time!" Lori squealed, defying the laws of physics by picking me up and setting me on her bed with my legs dangling. "Have you ever had a crush before?"

"Only two," I answered, "I'm in the middle of one right now, but I'm too quiet for him to know . . ."

"Yeah, I got that." Lori's reply was drab. "Honestly, you don't seem like the kind of person who would really have crushes—but, I shouldn't be so quick to judge. Who's the dream boat, hmm?"

"I—Not anyone you know."

Lori had a looked at me queerly. "So, uh, what's his name?"

I responded ever so quietly that only she could hear, and just barely. She happily accepted my answer and tried to prod me into revealing his qualities, but not a word that came out of my mouth was a description of

the boy. Eventually, I said, "He's smart," and left it at that.

The older blonde sighed thoughtfully. "He sounds dreamy. But I have a boyfriend"—her voice raised to soprano—"my precious Bobby Boo-Boo Bear."

I snickered and covered my mouth upon hearing the awkward nickname for Lori's boyfriend. I thought him to be a little bit unfortunate for the sappy, yet endearing nickname.

"W-What?" Lori asked, glaring at my red, laughter-concealing face. "Ohh. It's the nickname, isn't it?"

"Mhmm."

"I see."

I lowered my hands from my lips and prepared to speak more than just a few monosyllabic words at a time. "I'm sorry I've been so quiet. I really don't know how I ended up all the way in Michigan from South Carolina. It makes me feel relieved, somehow, but also really . . . I don't know, upset? And with how far away I am from home, I don't think I'd be able to contact my relatives."

Finally! I was connecting to someone! Connecting with . . . A teenager! It was almost surreal and miraculous that I was forming a relationship with someone who was more than several months older than me. And, best of all, she wasn't blatantly insulting me or ordering that I change myself in any respect. This might have been a normal scenario for most people, but for me, it was like a miracle, since connecting to others was so difficult without

wearing a bubbly persona.

I smiled to myself, but Lori quickly snapped me out of my odd trance by tapping me. "You okay?" she said.

I nodded, because at this point, head movements seemed to be my only way of communicating. Lori must have thought me quite dumb—not the stupid kind of dumb, but the barely able to speak kind of dumb. Though I considered myself to be both.

"I just really don't know how I got here. I almost never am out of my house or away from home except for school."

"Why don't you come out of your house? It's amazing outside!" Leni exclaimed, putting the top back on a nail polish bottle. "Well, Lucy does that too. She doesn't come out of the house much either."

Then something seemed to click. Both of us were introverts who could hardly function in new social situations.

"I'm . . . asocial," I said stupidly.

Leni looked rather confused. "A . . . Social?"

"Yeah—Uh, like antisocial, but the correct term. Asocial, you know?"

I gave up trying to explain when I saw Leni was still puzzled.

"Come on, girl advice time!" Lori squealed, as she and Leni let out incoherent soprano squeaks of excitement. I sat on Lori's bed, confused, until Lori began constructing a tent out of her bed covers and yanked me under with Leni.

"Say, why don't you talk so much?" Lori said, oddly enthusiastic enough to know. "Literally everyone in this House is making noise all the time, and you're just over here so . . . Mute."

I silently cleared my throat as if preparing to give an impactful speech. "I have a lot of siblings as well. Eight, to be exact," I began. "And being a middle child has done me no good service, except for handing me the appropriate negotiation skills needed for . . . Stuff. And also, I don't get much attention. But that's the main reason I sort of drifted away from being social. I never go out with my family, I always stay in my room and hope nobody comes in to bother me except the two younger ones who share the room with me."

"So wait," Leni interrupted, "you don't spend time with family because they don't pay much attention to you?"

"Basically. And I've never had much of an interest in socializing or speech. In fact, I knew sign language when I was two. I never spoke, I just used sign language." I stopped, but the two blondes stared at me as though they wanted to know more.

"Is that all?" Lori said.

"Well, and the fact that I'm . . . I have . . . Never mind."

"What is it?" Leni pressed.

"I'm not ready to share yet. Maybe if we get to know each other better, when you won't judge me quite as much."

"Oh, okay," Lori sighed, a little solemnly. To me, it was weird that two older girls wanted to know more about me, a random glasses-wearing, dumb brunette who was selectively mute over half the time due to a disorder.

Lori and Leni let me go, and for the first time, I smiled a bright, genuine smile, I felt truly happy. The Loud family accepted me like I was one of them, a family member, a friend, a human being with thoughts and a past and feelings—a soul, someone who didn't have some mental problem and just preferred not to communicate verbally. It almost gave me the urge to talk like a human.

Feeling way too overjoyed for it to be considered normal, I went downstairs, knowing I'd just made friends I would remember for life.


	3. Annabelle's Gift

**Chapter Three—Annabelle's Gift **

"So, what's the name of the book you wrote again?"

Rita put down her soap-sodden dish sponge and turned to me from the sink. Since she had brought up the topic of books, novels and writing, I told her that I had wanted to pursue the career of a writer ever since I was only eleven years old. Rita herself had written books before and was working on more. She was quite enthusiastic when I told her writing interested me, and she showed me some of her own—and _geez_, was her writing so eloquent, so descriptive and vivid.

I stood behind Rita, tapping my foot on the tiled kitchen floor and squeezing my fingers. "_In Defense of the Griffins,_" I answered. "But I'm going to rewrite the story soon. I want the mythical creatures featured to be more diverse, and griffins don't seem like a good choice for certain elements of the story to me." I wasn't quite sure how to put what I meant into words, as always.

"I see," said Rita, leaving a final plate in the dishwasher next to her and drying her hands. "You know, your story sounds like a good idea. If you develop it a bit more like you want, it could probably become a bestseller."

"Oh, I-I don't know about that." People always told me my writing was utterly superb, but I didn't always believe them. I have always been very self critical, and the black beast of criticism and detestation slowly went from a barely visible ghost of dark haze to a solidified monster that constantly whispered into my big, sensitive ears when I began to pursue the arts. Rita had given me a little boost of confidence, as normal when I received a complement, because I knew that even if I hated my ideas, other people appreciated them.

"I'd certainly love to see how you write," Rita said.

Something I commemorated came to mind. One of my best works was basically a fanfiction story I had to write for English class a few months prior. Of course, it wasn't really a fanfiction, as I was writing it to get a good grade rather than to entertain myself, but I had ended up being recognized as a potent writer after mine was graded. The story was a sort of predicting followup to a point where my class had stopped reading _The Cask of Amontillado,_ and I loved the original story. I thought mine to be horrendous, but others thought different.

"Do you have a computer?" I asked Rita.

"Actually, we do. Come with me." Rita led me into the living room and to a wall by the black stairs, where a small desk with a desktop computer stood. "What do you need it for?"

"I wrote a short story a few months back. It's on the computer, and I could access it if I use my e-mail."

"Hmm, okay." Rita stepped aside and allowed me to type my email in as soon as the computer booted up; I typed with speed and grace, hardly missing a letter I needed. Typing rhythm was one of the main reasons I enjoyed writing in the first place.

After I was logged in, I went on a website where my document sheets had been saved, and I scrolled down, picking a very specific one. I signaled for Rita to read it, and so she did.

Throughout her reading, I could tell she was having mixed emotions in her mind. At times, she squinted at the screen, other times her eyes went as wide as her hips. Some of the longer words I used, I don't recall the meaning; I only remember going on and finding larger synonyms for certain words.

Rita turned when she had read the very last sentence. She looked shocked, with a mild hint of being impressed. "You . . . Wrote that?"

I nodded, putting my hands behind my back.

"I've seen college papers that don't match that writing," said Rita. "How—"

I shrugged. When people ask me how I write in such an eloquent manner, I find it hard to answer. Using large words has never been too bothersome for me, as I even use them in speech, but matching Edgar Allen Poe's precise tone was rather difficult. The entire idea of the assignment was to make an extension and try to match the author's tone, which I suppose I succeeded in, considering it was picked as the best narrative in my class.

"Thanks for . . . Reading it," I mumbled, bringing my hands close.

"Oh, you're welcome. I think you'd be great friends with Lucy, she loves to write."

Why was everyone saying I should be friends with certain siblings? I have a tough time talking to my own siblings.

"Umm . . . Okay." I simply shrugged again and moved away from Rita awkwardly. I wasn't quite sure what to do now, since I'd already spent a decent amount of time with each sibling, and I was too shy to talk to their dad. Lynn Sr. seemed like a very talkative guy, the total opposite of me. Sometimes I do start to grow a small affinity for talking—but only when the conversation is interesting. In my case, an enthralling conversation is pretty rare given my limited interests. And not everything I'm interested in is something I talk about regularly, either. I could have easily told Lynn Sr. that my dad also enjoys cooking and runs a rib business, or that I have so many crazy siblings to talk about as well.

I was mentally rambling again as I wandered. _Shoot_.

I'd accidentally wandered into a back nook behind the living room, where a door leading out to the Louds' toy-littered backyard, and where a door perpendicular to it on the back wall stood. I wondered where it could possibly have led—perhaps it was a closet? A pantry?

But I couldn't bring myself to open it without permission and fetched Lincoln.

"That's our basement," he said, with a mild tone of intimidation as we approached the door. "It's scary down there. Dark. Unfortunately, it's the only place where we can do our laundry."

"My . . . My clothes are . . . Down there," I said quietly.

Lincoln paled. "_Ohhhh_ _geez_. You don't want me to—?"

I frowned as well, an even more nervous look appearing on my face.

The white-haired boy sighed in defeat. "Okay. Come on, I'll walk you down there."

To be honest, I felt bad for having brought Lincoln down with me. He was obviously scared, and even I could tell that he was. I clasped his cold hand with my warm one, as we descended down the ever so creaky stairs to find a light switch.

"Wait, here!" Lincoln flipped a switch, and a light above on the ceiling flickered, lighting up the basement. By the stairs were a washing machine and a dryer, both equally inactive, and wooden shelves were placed along the walls. I heard the droplets of leaks plopping down onto what otherwise would have been silence. Overall, the basement wasn't anything very creepy like I'd expected. In fact, the only remotely scary thing was the iron furnace with a vile fume of smoked coal.

Lincoln led me back upstairs after hesitantly turning off the basement light and closing the door, and after I'd retrieved my clothes from yesterday from the drier. "We only go in there by certain means necessary," he said, so seriously that I almost took it as a joke. "Be careful down there. You never know what monster could emerge from the deepest, darkest corners of your very own home."

He made a quick, creepy little gesture with his hands that resembled claws of sorts ripping into my flesh. I shuddered.

"Anyway—we were going to visit Aunty Pam's Ice Cream Parlor later today," he brought up, ruggedly shifting the tone of things. "They're selling a limited-time Sundae Hot Chocolate until January. That's in a couple days. You should come, Aunty Pam's is _amazing_."

At that point, any sweet thing sounded amazing. Hot chocolate and ice cream? Combined? That was what I was talking about.

I nodded vigorously. I wanted to taste that hot cocoa by any means, and I for sure would.

"Sweet!" Lincoln exclaimed, pumping his fist into the air. I wasn't quite so sure why it was so "sweet" that I was attending their trip to Aunty Pam's, but I do get the same treatment at home despite my asocial tendencies, so why not just go along?

"We're leaving at 4:00 so we don't miss the 5:00 closing time. Cool?"

I nodded.

"Geez. You really don't talk, do you?" Lincoln seemed almost dismayed at my nonverbal communication methods.

"I—I guess—not," I murmured, so quiet that it was nearly inaudible.

"That's ironic." Lincoln beamed, his freckled cheeks glowing with little boy innocence. "You should get dressed. It's nearly 11:00."

I staggered back in shock at the time, as if I had just been stabbed. How could time fly so quickly?

Nodding, I left Lincoln in the kitchen and sprinted back to the second floor of the house to get to the bathroom and change. I got out of the nightgown Leni had given me, and slipped into my confining bra, then my soft white shirt, and then my pants. Just when I was yanking my pants up to my waist, I heard a knock on the bathroom door. It sounded very distinct, not like a soft child's knock, but a knock a young adult had probably picked up over time.

I opened the door and found Lincoln again, beaming with baby Lily in his arms. She only wore a diaper, the rest of her body smooth and bare with baby skin fat she had yet to grow into, and a soft tuft of blonde hair on her head.

"You haven't met Lily, have you?" Lincoln asked, setting his sister on the floor and letting her crawl about like a cat. "She's a little bit—um, _prone_ to diaper dirtying."

I gulped.

Lily glimpsed me with big, wide blue eyes. If the term "doe-eyed" could refer to blue eyes instead of just brown eyes, I'd apply it to Lily. She flaunted her one-toothed smile, an airy, repetitive little giggle falling out, and she tugged at my pants.

"You wanna hold her?"

I looked up to Lincoln. He grabbed Lily's plump little waist and held her out to me.

"What?"

Oh, how holding babies made me nervous. They're such fragile little lives and if you were to make one wrong move, like tripping or letting your arms loosen a bit, chances are that the baby could be seriously injured. I'd had some experience in holding babies, given the number of siblings I had, but each time I was scared and apprehensive.

I shakily took Lily into my arms, pressing her against my shoulder in a similar manner to how Santa is depicted slinging his present sack over his own shoulder. But Lily isn't a bag. She's a living, breathing being that I'd endanger by simply letting go without safety precautions underneath me. Lily smiled and exclaimed with pure innocence and joy, I couldn't help but feel a bit like a small child myself.

Grinning a bit, I released Lily to the floor.

"She's . . . Cute," I said in my most polite tone.

"Yeah. She really is. The one sister who actually manages to stop our massive tornado sibling fights."

Sibling fights. Those two words made me cringe.

"How old is she?" I asked.

"Fifteen months," Lincoln answered. "Probably, and hopefully, the last child our mom has. I can't handle another sibling. Heh."

I stood still, because for now, it seemed as though I was like another sibling.

"Oh. No offense or anything."

"N-none taken."

When will this awkward conversation end.

"Well, I'm really happy you wanted to come. I'm surprised you did," Lincoln wrapped up.

"Why?"

"I don't know, you just seem kind of . . . Shy."

I shrugged. I thought he was going to say something about me hating people altogether, but I was very glad he didn't. What's with the stereotype of quiet introverts hating all of humankind?

"I guess I'll leave you alone now. You really don't seem like the kind of person to enjoy small talk," said Lincoln, backing away towards his room. "See you later, Annabelle." With a brief shut of his door, he was out of my right.

I sighed. It came across as no surprise to me that I botched up another social interaction with someone around my age range, but was perfectly okay interacting with an innocent baby. Oddly enough, I wanted to play with Lily after that, get to know her, become one of her best friends. . . . Lily just seemed so pure, so happy around people, able to interact normally. If a baby could do it, why couldn't a teenager?

Bored, I went back downstairs to find something to do. Lana and Lola were watching Penguin Pageants (I can't believe that's a show) on the couch, and Luan was inflating whoopee cushions on the living room floor. Luan smiled at me, braces flashing like diamonds inlaid on her teeth, and I waved back.

Then I saw some crayons scattered along the coffee table, and I gained an idea.

I tapped Luan's shoulder, and she looked up from blowing up a whoopee cushion.

"Do you know, well—how do you find—um—where's the paper?" I asked, knees bending.

"Over there, by the printer," Luan said, pointing to the back corner of the living room by the stairs. A desk with a computer leaned against the wall, with a printer right next to it.

I nodded in thanks to Luan, and retrieved a piece of paper—then, I swiped a random mechanical pencil I found on the desk, and stalked into the dining room. It was completely empty there, so I assumed most of the Louds were in their rooms or disperse amongst the house. I pulled out a random black wooden chair, and began to draw, no particular outcome in mind. . . .

The lead of the pencil twirled and swiped and stroked the paper erratically, randomly going back to resolve the most minuscule shiny silver details on the unfinished art. Shades of gray varied among the piece, sometimes smeared, sometimes just blended well with hundreds of tiny pencil strokes. Circles wouldn't come out in the most flawless way, constant erasing was needed—lengths of lines had to constantly be altered, curves changed from thin to wide.

It seemed like a burdensome process that lasted so many minutes, but I was finally done—eventually.

On my paper was a bluebird, with not a single hint of blue on it, only gray pencil lead; I'd done all that with just a single pencil, no paintbrushes, no pens, no markers. Just a single mechanical pencil and a paper and some time. The outcome was beautiful, the legs were proportioned correctly and the eyes of the bird seemed gentle and seed-like, just like a real bird.

I held up my paper for a better view, sort of grinning and nodding. "Oh yes, something of decent quality comes of me," I smiled, eyes lighting up. For once, the more and more I looked at it, it didn't seem to drop in quality. It looked perfect.

Eager, I slid out of the chair and snuck to the living room. More siblings had joined: Lily was stacking building blocks, and Leni was coating her nails with nail polish on the sofa. Luan, Lola and Lana were still there, continuing their normal activities. I nervously pinched the sides of my paper, hands beginning to quiver—Wait, why was I so cold and sweaty—

"What's that?" Lola asked, a certain curious tone in her voice. The other sisters looked up from what they were doing, as if Lola had unintentionally directed their attention to me.

Shoot, I had to show them what I could create now.

I sheepishly sidled across the carpet, nearing the sofa, and flipped my paper around. The other sisters gaped in astonishment, as if my drawing was really that good.

A hand swiped the paper from mine. It was Luan, her eyes shifting around the drawing like a scanning laser. "How could anyone—"

I shrugged simply and stifled a grin. How arrogant people handle compliments easily, I have no clue. They make it look so simple. From where I stood, I watched Leni, hoping she'd approve of the art. I wasn't sure what stuck about her. Perhaps it may have been that I valued the quality of kindness over intelligence, or just the fact that she'd been the most caring, from what I saw. Someone as artistic as her certainly wouldn't like whatever junk I'd just hurled onto the paper.

But I was wrong.

Leni turned her attention to me, and smiled. Oh, that smile, it was just so welcoming, so friendly, not like any smile I'd seen before. I couldn't tell what it was I felt when the sisters positively reacted to the picture. It was like a swelling in my stomach, an embarrassment, a thrill, like the feeling you get when you zip down a hill on a roller coaster. Not that I'd ride another one anytime soon.

From then until around 4:00, I spent the day doodling cartoons on papers, stacking and stacking up until the printer almost ran out. They were unrealistic and rough, like an animatic, but I didn't mind. The drawings expressed energy when they were drawn roughly, or with more lines to spare. Little did I take breaks. Occasionally, somebody would pass by and glance over my shoulder like a stalker, but I'd hardly notice. Even when siblings would heat up their father's leftovers and sat at the table, I refused to speak.

At 4, someone tapped my shoulder. I jumped out of my chair, scattering shuffling papers everywhere and turning to Lincoln.

"We're all ready to go now," he smiled, handing me my shoes and socks, and a spare coat. I slipped them on clumsily, and sprinted to the front door, where every last family member awaited.

"Alright, it's time for hot cocoa!" Lynn Sr. announced with great enthusiasm. The Loud kids erupted into cheers, slipping into coats and filing out the door.

"Most of us had our first ice creams here," said Lincoln, leading me out of the house like a tour guide. "Oh, trust me, it is some special ice cream. It's the best in Royal Woods."

I wasn't sure about Lincoln's description of the desserts at Aunty Pam's, but I took his word for it. Then, I saw one of my worst fears, right in the driveway: kids piling into one car.

I gulped, freezing in place like a cold statue. Lincoln pried on my arm to get me to move, and I was pulled into the van.

"This is Vanzilla," he said, buckling and patting the seat affectionately. "She's the ultimate vehicle of the Loud House, although she's a bit . . . Old, a little damaged . . . But she works well."

Somehow, I fit in the van with enough room to buckle myself in. To be honest, after a while of being away from home, I was pretty excited to go and get hot chocolate, even though the ground was covered in snow and it was almost dark.


	4. A Big Reveal to a Small Person

**I know it's been almost two months since I've updated, but I tend to procrastinate on things... I'm sorry for that. Even though this chapter is shorter than the others, it might be a more controversial chapter, as it has the main character struggling to reveal something about herself to another character that most people usually keep hidden. **

**Also, I'd like to thank Parent12D for the kind reviews, they really motivated me to keep writing this. **

**Chapter 4—A Big Reveal to a Small Person**

We had made it to Aunty Pam's at approximately 4:30, which left us all plenty of time to order our desserts and truly enjoy them. I noticed that much of the snow had melted overnight, though there was still a little bit lined along the roads.

But _oh goodness, _I thought I'd known sweets before I tasted the limited edition Sundae Hot Chocolate.

In my home town, there was a famous dessert shop that sold all different kinds of sweets: fluffy, warm cakes, soft and sugary brownies, gooey, delectable cookies, and, my favorite, the limitless different flavors of ice cream and/or frozen yogurt. Honestly, I consider them to be the same, except frozen yogurt is softer than ice cream.

As soon as I took the first sip of the drink, which Rita had kindly bought for me at the outside counter, I kind of forgot everything else existed in this world. The sweet chocolate melted along my tongue like slow, warm-blooded lava sliding along the ashy ground. There were cookie bits and marshmallows in there as well, I believe, and they went perfectly with the melted chocolate. It actually tasted like a real sundae, only with a dash of cuddles and warmth tossed in.

"See? What'd we tell you?" Lincoln said cheekily, noticing my entranced grin after I'd tasted the first sip.

"Oh—mhm," I nodded, mouth muffled with cocoa. I swallowed and sighed, the air exiting as gentle vapor. "This . . . Is revolutionary . . . A dessert worthy of all mouths and eyes alike, an irresistible artifact of—"

"'Ey, you okay there?" Lana suddenly tapped my shoulder and asked. I turned and nodded, wiping my lips.

"F-fine," I responded, grinning. I was more than fine. I was growing happier by the second. I wasn't really quite one to appreciate the taste of food so much, but this was entirely different . . . This was something my own mother couldn't even top. She'd be quite amazed to taste it herself, it would practically be a blessing to her if she did.

And it seemed like everyone else liked the drink, too. The whole Loud family had gotten the Sundae Hot Chocolate, and each member agreed that it had the power to melt the hearts of the coldest Scrooges.

"This could ruin my thin frame, but . . . This is _delicious_!" Leni squealed, twirling with her dessert. Lori grabbed her before the cocoa could fling itself out of the container.

Goodness, it could enchant even the most diet-strict of people.

Admittedly, something made me very happy about seeing the Louds all enjoying a nice treat together, since my family and I rarely, if not never do that together. They're always too busy and distant from each other for this kind of thing. And when they do get a break, it usually involves drama between a couple of siblings or between a sibling and a parent. My heart was instantly warmed at the sight of the Loud family just standing around and chatting with one another, almost like best friends. Lisa started rambling all about her latest experiment to Mr. and Mrs. Loud at the outside counter, Luan was cracking silly jokes to Lily to make her laugh, Luna sang quiet songs to Lana, Lincoln and Lucy, and Lola, Lori and Leni were chatting about their latest adventures in shopping.

I felt some warm fire light up inside, not of anger or severe passion, but joy. No, I didn't dare walk up and destroy their moments, but I was happy to see a family simply talking and enjoying dessert. Actually, I'd forgotten all about going home to South Carolina, where all my real problems were, where all the drama was.

Once everyone had gotten their dessert, Mr. Loud gathered us all in the van. Everyone was completely satisfied, there was no anger, not even from Lola, who I'd noticed was kind of picky. Lily had warm chocolate splotched across her mouth, which Luna promptly responded to with a paper towel.

"Alright, Louds, I'd like to get home before it gets dark, the sun's already setting and it's right about freezing," Mr. Loud announced, setting his cocoa in the cup holder beside him. He started the car immediately, and we drove off.

During the very talkative journey, Lincoln tapped my shoulder. "Are you okay? You've been quiet this whole time."

I stared at him for a few seconds, not blinking, until I finally said, "Yes, I'm always like this on car rides." And it was true, I always hated voicing my own thoughts in the car. It's too packed inside of a vehicle for that.

"You know, you can talk to us," said Lincoln, bringing his cup to his lips. "You don't have to stay out."

"I . . . I'm just more comfortable this way," I stuttered.

"Well, if that's what you want." Lincoln set his cup between his legs to hold it in place. "I've never really met anyone like you, you're even quieter than Lucy, and that says a lot."

I shrugged and sipped from my cup. Back home, I was usually forced to socialize and be around people, but with the Louds, it was sort of a "Whenever you're ready" kind of a deal. It was weird, even with a larger family than mine, they didn't seem too invasive.

Then something came to my mind: how had I even gotten in Michigan in the first place? I hadn't even thought about that since the other night. The theories of how I could end up so far from home raced in my head, but none of them seemed plausible. It almost hurt my head to try and come up with a theory, or an explanation. Was there a magical tie? Had magic leaked into the real world? Was I sedated and then kidnapped and brought all the way to Michigan and dumped on the road?

I decided not to think about it for now. Perhaps I would ask Lisa later.

As the rest of the Louds chattered away in Vanzilla, a few of them tried to strike up a long conversation with me, but failed. I'd say a few monosyllabic or bisyllabic words as a reply and nothing beyond that. I think the Loud kids were concerned that I wasn't easy to talk to, but quite frankly, I didn't think talking to them was easy because they're all so different and much more talkative, aside from Lucy.

It got dark soon. During the drive, the sun began to set over some distant trees in a stunning display, like light was refracting through a surface of crimson rubies and warm topaz. It was like a painting. I remember when I was ten, my father had been driving a few of my sisters and me home through a sunset, and he'd said, "I believe that one day, one of you will paint that." I've actually held out the hope of painting a sunset, even though right now I'm not big on painting.

After a little while, we'd returned to the house, and immediately, everyone spilled out of the car like a torrent of excited monkeys. I was the last to get out after being confused by the sudden rush, but we all made it inside safely without getting hurt. (Surprisingly, nobody slipped and fell on the icy stairs.)

While Lynn Jr. and the Loud parents had already finished their hot chocolates, everyone else still had some remaining, including me. So, Lori proposed that we could all just sit and relax on the sofa with the fire ablaze. Everyone else thought it was a good idea, and I didn't mind, so five minutes later, everyone was releasing pleasured sighs on the sofa while Mr. Loud tended to the fire with a metal rod.

"Everyone warmin' up okay?" he asked, to which we responded with a chorus of "Yeahs".

This was nice. My family never did this. They all went to bed early or just didn't really want to interact with one another. Also, nobody ever turned the fire on, which I can't explain. It was odd, I sometimes fantasize about sitting around an ablaze fire pit with the people I love and having a steaming beverage in my small, pale hands. This was that fantasy, but I wasn't even that close to the Loud family—yet, I felt closer to them.

It was like I was part of a family for a second, I wasn't isolating myself in my bedroom like I was used to doing.

By the time everyone had finished their hot chocolates, it was supposed to be dinner time, but nobody was particularly hungry, except Lynn Jr. She simply shrugged when everyone else had told her they weren't hungry, and went into the kitchen to heat up some leftover lasagna. Personally, I think lasagna is pungent and repulsive, but people have their own tastes. The other Louds rose from the sofa and dispersed across the house.

Suddenly, the memory of Lisa asking me many personal questions came to my mind. I followed her upstairs with quiet steps, where I thought she'd head to her room, and she did.

Before the four year old closed the door to her room, she noticed me, and unleashed a peculiar kind of shriek. "You startled me," she said in her typical monotone voice, frowning.

"Um . . . Lisa," I started, tapping my index fingers together rhythmically. "Do you . . . Do you recall when you were—um—'interrogating' me earlier today?"

"Affirmative. Also, your sweat glands are releasing moisture."

"Well—there was some personal info I didn't quite share," I explained, crouching down to her level. "May I—um—tell you in private?"

"Hm." Lisa put her left hand to her chin thoughtfully. "I suppose I could make some excess time for you. Take a seat." The girl sashayed back into her room, her feet moving at what seemed like sonic speed, and plopped onto a black stool by her counter of chemicals. She then gestured to Lily's baby crib, where I guess she'd intended for me to sit.

I seated myself there with hesitance. Something told me Lisa was trying to mimic a therapy session.

"I . . . I just wanted to say something quickly," I mumbled, lifting my hand as a gesture of confusion.

"Then speak, I am open to hear your words," said Lisa.

"Well . . . You questioned if I had any disorders, or . . . Something of sorts."

"Mhm."

"So—I didn't want Lincoln to hear—"

"Go on."

"The thing is I—"

_Why on Earth was this so hard to say_? Of all the Louds, I thought Lisa would understand what I had the most, despite the fact that she behaved practically like an emotionless android. I broke into a cold sweat, my hands fidgeted vigorously, I was gaining goosebumps—Wait, why were my eyes burning? Why were they dampening? Do knees shake when normal people have something to say?

"Ahem."

I shook my head, and in the most hasty manner, I blurted, "_I have autism_."

Lisa raised an eyebrow and eyed me. "Hmm. That doesn't come across as any surprise to me. I suspected you of having it within moments of our first greeting, your behavior patterns display many symptoms."

I sighed with relief. She understood. She knew about it. "That's . . . That's all I wanted to say," I finished, staring at my feet.

"I'm just confounded that you came to me of all folks to reveal this rather obvious quality about yourself. Wouldn't you rather tell our maternal unit? She could certainly learn a lot."

"I assumed you'd know more about this than anyone else."

"True." Lisa reached out and gripped one of the beakers on her counter, filling it with colored liquid from a strange device she kept. "I suggest revealing this to at least two other individuals. Perhaps my eldest sister or one parent could comprehend."

_Eldest sister . . _. Oh, of course, Lori. I wondered why Lisa suggested Lori, of all the siblings, for me to talk to about the disorder. But Lisa seemed very experienced with both her own family and with anything having to do with psychology, so I accepted what she said and left the room without another word.

"Some people find out more quickly than others!" Lisa exclaimed as I walked down the hall like a scared toddler. I had no earthly idea what she was talking about, so I shrugged and scooted towards Lori and Leni's bedroom door.

I can't explain why, but I was staring at that door for a solid three minutes, mentally debating whether or not I should knock.

_Should I knock? They gave me permission to enter their room . . . But what if they think I'm annoying? They probably think I'm a little freshman nuisance. Well then why did they let me sleep in their room last night? Maybe they can't help but feel sympathy for sad, lonely people like me, a social annoyance—_

I sighed, lowering my head so my nose pointed to the floor, and knocked with my eyes closed.

About ten seconds later, I received an answer; Lori, in a plain white tank top and blue shorts, stared down at hair-draped head, as my face was still facing the floor.

"Anne?"

I opened my eyes and looked up, like a car's headlights flipping on at night with no warning whatsoever. My face was blank, but I gestured to the room anyway.

"Oh, you can come in. Lola and Leni are just painting each other's nails."

Relief washed over me like a massive tidal wave of doom. Lori understood my bizarre gesture of showing things that I want to do or possess to others. It's sort of like if I want donuts, I grab a box of donuts from the kitchen pantry and show them to my dad, or if I want to use the television, I point to it. It's a strange system of body motions that a user couldn't elaborate on.

I wanted to tell Lori what I'd told Lisa . . . But I just didn't think I was quite ready. I didn't want Lori to possibly judge me so soon.

I stepped into the room and immediately headed for my sleeping bag, which was still spread out on the floor. Indeed, Lola and Leni had been painting each other's nails on Leni's bed—Lola already had her nails painted a bright, glittery pink, and was painting Leni's nails mint green.

"This is so much fun, Lola! _AAHHHH_!" Leni squeed, startling me into falling face-first into my sleeping bag. "Oh, hi, Annie!"

_Annie_? Not many people really called me that. I didn't mind it, of course. The only time I could recall someone calling me that was when I'd met a theatre enthusiast in seventh grade named Lee, and one of the plays she was obsessed with was called Annie. She gave me the nickname 'Annie' as a result.

What happened to her, I can't say, because I don't know.

"Her name is Annabelle, Leni," Lori corrected, observing Lola as she coated Leni's fingernails in nail polish.

"Oh. Sorry!" Leni grinned brightly.

"Agh, Leni, stop twitching! You're gonna make me mess up," Lola scolded, concentrating harder.

Yep, this is why I don't paint my nails. Plus, the last time someone tried to paint my nails, about three months earlier, she complained that my nails were much too tiny to paint without getting some nail polish on the outer edges.

Well, it's pretty difficult not to chew or fiddle with your fingernails when you're nervous.

I sighed and brought the sleeping bag covers up to my knees, which I then brought up to my chest. It felt safer that way, for some reason. I felt more hidden from the need to socialize.

"Anyway," Lori said with a start, "are you feeling less sick, Annabelle?"

"Oh—um, yes," I answered, muffled by the sleeping bag's covers.

"Well, that's good, at least." The tall blonde collapsed on her blue bed, and pulled out her phone to begin texting. And goodness, did she text fast.

"Aren't you excited for your date tomorrow, Lori?" Leni asked, flexing her now colored nails. Lola put her bottles of nail polish in a pink box and grinned proudly at her fine work.

"Oh, yes!" Lori sighed in a dreamy manner and fell back on her pillow. "Bobby's literally taking me to Jean Juan's French-Mex Buffet at 5 to remind me of our first date there, which didn't go so well, unfortunately. But it's literally going to be _so_ romantic."

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but who's Bobby?" I questioned, lowering my covers and blinking at Lori.

"He's just my totes awesome boyfriend! Oh, Annabelle, I don't think you could ever meet a guy as _amazing_ as Bobby."

I felt somewhat joyful at seeing Lori's enthusiasm for a date of hers, but I don't think I could ever get excited romantically over anyone. Dating just seems like something that requires a great deal of confidence, courage, self esteem. . . . I applaud anyone who does manage to get a date and go out with them.

"I'm . . . I'm sure he's great," I smiled.

"He definitely is." Lori continued texting, then put her phone on the nightstand between her and Leni's bed.

"I think I should leave. Leni, don't touch anything until your nails have tried," Lola told us, before slamming the door behind her.

"Don't worry, I will," Leni responded, flapping her hands in an attempt to dry her nails. "So . . . What do you guys wanna do?"

"Not sure there's much we can do. It's 7:40," Lori said.

_7:40? Already_? I was in such a state of shock, my eyes goggled like reflective marbles, I froze in place. I thought it had only been half an hour, but it had been hours we all had gotten our hot chocolates. This day was going by way too fast—

"_Kids, Patchy Drizzle says there's gonna be a foot of snow tonight, keep your fingers crossed!"_

Nearly everyone in the house erupted into high-pitched, boisterous cheers upon hearing that announcement, while I was stuck wondering, who is Patchy Drizzle, or what was Patchy Drizzle, and why did he/she/it say there was going to be more snow tonight?

"Wait, who's Patch—"

"Snow day!" Leni shrieked, putting her hands to her cheeks. "I can make a snowman, and make him look totes fashionable!"

"But . . ." Lori sniffed and looked at her hands. "But if it snows . . . I can't go on my date with Bobby." Her eyelids lowered, as she breathed into her lap in such dispirit.

I gaped at Lori from a distance. Even I could tell she looked absolutely crushed, her lower lip hung out as the rest of her sat perfectly still, with eyes misting. While Leni came over to comfort her older sister, I rubbed my chin in thought. Lori was so clearly looking forward to this date . . . And she'd said this was to remind her of the first time she'd gone on a date with her boyfriend.

Then something came to my mind, and I perked up.

_Maybe it doesn't have to fully be canceled._

**So Bobby moved away from Royal Woods around season 3, I know—but I imagine this would take place right after 11 Louds a' Leapin', because I tried to keep things mostly the same, including the characters' ages and before Ronnie Anne, Bobby and their mother moved away. **

**I feel that having an autistic protagonist is still controversial, though. I didn't want to include the theories of Leni, Lisa, or more recently, Luan, being autistic though, as that could cause some controversy. But since Annabelle is my own character, I can confirm anything about her that isn't touched on in text, and plus, her behaviors show many symptoms. **

**So... I don't know how to end this. **


	5. Lori's Stay-at-Home Date

**Hello, everyone reading this. I just wanted to say, I planned to post this on Sunday night, but my power went out due to a really bad storm (there was literal hail). **

**Also, this might seem obvious, but... this book now has a cover! It was designed by me, with just a mechanical pencil. Now, I know it's traditional art rather than digital art, but I don't have a tablet to create digital art and I can't even make digital art. The illustration, I feel, could have been done better, but I worked really hard on it. I hope you all like it. **

**This chapter is sort of revealing more about Annabelle's qualities, as she slowly crawls out of her shell. She goes through a bunch of development here. **

**But anyway, here's chapter 5 for you. **

**Chapter 5—Lori's Stay-at-Home Date**

Right after I'd changed into the white night gown and brushed my teeth with a newly unpackaged toothbrush Rita had provided for me, I shuffled to Lincoln's room, rubbing the back of my wrist. I was coming to him solely because I figured he'd know what Lori enjoyed the most. There was something I wanted to do.

When I reached his bedroom door, I knocked softly on it three times with clenched fists. He answered in a very short time, and he seemed rather pleased to see me.

"Hey, Annabelle," he greeted. "What's up?"

"I . . . There's—Lori." Well, I hadn't planned what I was going to say beforehand.

"Um . . . What?"

I shook my head. "Sorry—Ahem—Lori's date, it's tomorrow, or, well, it was supposed to happen."

Lincoln's eyes broadened with understanding. "_Ohhh_! You must have overheard her talking about a date with Bobby, she's really obsessed with him." The white-haired boy paused. "Wait, did you say 'supposed to happen'?"

"The overnight snow," I said, wishing Lincoln would understand with as few words as possible. "The snow . . . It's unsafe to drive in." I clutched my head, frustrated with myself. Why is communication so hard?

"I'm—I need your help."

"Huh? Why do you need my help?" Lincoln asked, scratching his head. "Help with what? You can drive? Aren't you, like, thirteen—"

"You have to know more about Lori and her boyfriend than I do. They can't go out on their date with all the dangerous snow, which, um, they didn't expect . . . But, I think we can . . . set up a date for them here, using things that they like."

"Ah." Lincoln smiled. "Hey, that's a great idea! We can set up some romantic date things (or at least what Lori deems romantic) and cook some nice food. It'll be great!"

I grinned at Lincoln's enthusiasm for my idea. There was someone who could partake in something I wanted to create, to put in reality, for once. Even if I prefer doing things alone, it was nice to know that I could have help.

"Now, for what Lori likes," said Lincoln, pacing. "I know she doesn't have that many expectations for Bobby on dates, but she likes something romantic enough, she almost always goes to restaurants for dates. She also _loves_ it when Bobby wears his most formal tux and shoes, and she loves for people to be polite on her—"

Lincoln stopped speaking when he noticed me scribbling things down on a notepad. "Proceed, please," I mumbled, looking up with mild embarrassment.

"Well. Anyway, Lori and Bobby both really like pizza, Bobby has a part-time job as a delivery boy . . . Oh! And they can't resist slow dancing with each other after they eat."

I wrote down the last of what Lincoln said, and clicked the pen, looking back up. "I think I know how to set this up. Tomorrow . . . Um—would you mind getting all your sisters together—except Lori, to help set up the date?"

"Sure, I'm happy to help." Lincoln suddenly leaned closer to my ear. "You might wanna ask our parents for permission before doing this, though. Oh, I almost forgot—just . . . Keep Leni away from Lori. Leni's known for spoiling surprises in the Loud House, make sure she doesn't tell Lori about this."

I frowned. Something was telling me Lincoln was trying to imply that I shouldn't ask for Leni's help with this, even when I was certain she'd be a great help with decorating.

"Well, okay," I said, clutching the notepad tighter. I almost wrote that down, but my subconscious stopped me, for whatever reason. "I'll . . . I will keep that in mind. Thanks for your help, Lincoln."

With that, I softly hugged the younger boy. I'm not sure why I did, I didn't really hug boys a whole lot. I could tell Lincoln himself was taken aback by my embrace, especially with how distant I'd remained. He returned and accepted the hug anyway, though.

"Happy to help. Now, I think we should get to bed. When the last Loud is finished using the bathroom to get ready for bed at night, that means it's time for bed."

We both stared into the distance of the hallway, where Luan gleefully skipped out of the bathroom in her yellow pajamas. "Boy, I tell you, my teeth are shining after brushing them, that's the _tooth! _Hahahahaha!" She headed to her room, chuckling and giggling like a cheery clown.

"Good night," I whispered, leaving Lincoln's side to go back to Lori and Leni's room.

"'Night," Lincoln responded, backing into his own room and closing the door.

I soundlessly opened the door to Lori and Leni's room, and shut it with caution.

At the crack of dawn, I rose from the sleeping bag, careful to not awaken the two blonde teens. I tiptoed towards the door, silent as a mouse, and closed the door behind me, proceeding to go down to the kitchen. It felt pretty wrong to sneak through someone else's house, especially since the Louds were already kind enough to let me in with them.

But I wasn't sneaking just for the heck of it—I was trying to see if Mr. and Mrs. Loud were awake.

And they were—as I reached the last step, I saw the two parents conversing by themselves at the long black table about who knows what. None of the other kids were awake yet, so I saw my chance to get permission from the adults without the others being aware yet.

I approached the parents as silently as my feet could go, and before I wanted to get their attention, Lynn Sr. spotted me. "Hey, good mornin', Annabelle! Up and at 'em early today, huh?"

"I have a request," I mumbled, rubbing the back of my wrist with my freezing hands. "Well . . . Lori was supposed to have a date today—"

"Oh, Lori must've told you all about it. That's all she ever talks about within hours of her dates," Rita said, sipping from a mug filled with coffee. "So what's it about her date?"

"The snow," I breathed, almost too quick to be understood. "It's not safe to drive in—something about a French-Mexican restaurant—" I put my fingers to my temples in frustration and hissed at myself for not being able to convey my idea. "She can't see her boyfriend if the snow is too dangerous to drive in. Look."

I pointed to the window, where it was basically a sheet of pure white. The Loud parents turned their heads to it, and gaped at the delicately falling snow, which was piling up to over a foot on the ground. The roads outside had a solid blanket of ice and slush spread across like cake frosting, and nobody was outside.

"You're right," Lynn Sr. said, shocked. "Why do you bring this up?"

"I was hoping that, um . . . that you'd allow me to help set up a date for Lori and her boyfriend to have here instead?" I straightened my lips, embarrassed at my proposition.

Lynn and Rita looked at each other, each with the same blank countenance, and shrugged. "Sure, I don't see why not," Rita told me with a grin. "Why don't you ask the other kids for help setting it up?"

"That's what I had in mind. I asked Lincoln for help last night, and he said he would assist in setting up the date."

"Well please, go ahead and take your time," said Lynn. "But wait until after breakfast, figure you're gonna use the dining room to set up the date".

"Okay, I can wait."

"While we're waiting, why don't you watch something on television? Nobody's up, so there isn't gonna be a fight for it for a while."

It was only obvious that a family as big as the Loud family would have fights over the TV in the morning. That kind of thing wasn't exactly unheard of back home.

I pursed my lips and went to go sit on the couch, but I didn't even touch the remote. I simply kicked my feet without greatly impacting the bottom of the couch, and began to consider things I'd be doing if I were back home. Likely, I'd be sitting in my bed, the sun just beginning to peak through the window of my bedroom, covers pulled up to my waist, with my gray laptop on my thighs, and some cracked headphones over my ears playing Heathers or Hamilton. I wish I'd had my cell phone at that moment, because I would already have started listening to my favorite musicals again, and I could have called my mother to blubber to her about how I was trapped in Michigan and didn't know how in the world I'd even gotten there.

But I hadn't quite been so bored staying at the Loud House . . . Just mildly afraid. I felt as though I was walking on egg shells, if I made one wrong move that was deemed impolite by any of the Loud house residents, I'd be through, or even if I did want to speak more, I could possibly be a burden. It was kind of like home, but there wasn't so much of a pressure to stay out of the way, like the family actually wanted me involved—

For the next twenty minutes or so, I sat daydreaming on the couch while the Loud parents conversed at the table. Eventually, Lynn Sr. decided to get up and start making breakfast, which I overheard him saying that it was comprised of fried sausages, buttered biscuits, croissants, and eggs. Biscuits and croissants sounded delicious to me, but I wasn't exactly fond of sausage or eggs.

Like yesterday morning, the Loud kids came downstairs one by one when they woke up and let the smell of a homely breakfast drift past their noses. Lola, Lynn, Luna and Leni joined me on the couch and attempted to strike conversations with me—Lola tried discussing princesses and royalty and how much she aspires to live in a castle, Lynn wanted to talk about some close calls in some of her countless sports games, Luna began to ramble about her favorite musician, someone by the surname 'Mick Swagger', and Leni wanted to go on about all the latest fashion trends she'd discovered by reading magazines. As much as I wanted to chat, I could barely carry a conversation beyond just a couple short sentences with each girl.

Lisa, Lana, Lucy, Lincoln, Luan, and Lori all went to the table, and soon, Rita went upstairs to bring Lily down from her room. By then, I was beginning to realize that I had not eaten a meal since yesterday and was yearning for a taste of something that reminded me of home—like biscuits. The smell of the sausages even reminded me of home; my siblings often fried them in the morning when we were out of freezer waffles.

Eventually, the parents called everyone to the table, and we all took our seats. I slowly pulled my chair out from under the tabletop, sat down, and with equal speed, scooted myself forward.

In such a display of grace and pride, Lynn Sr. wove all around the dining room, placing different plates of food on different spots on the table. The croissants went right smack in the middle, biscuits farthest from me, and the sausages closest to me.

It kind of went as normal from there. Nobody was too vicious in grabbing their food, despite the fact that the kids evidently loved their father's food. My mom has a thing for culinary arts as well, and she does make delicious food, but none of my siblings are very willing to practically fight to the death for it.

When it was my turn to get a biscuit and a croissant, I gulped. I felt as though someone had fixed their eyes on me, and wouldn't let go. My hands trembled as I held the biscuit plate, and I'm pretty sure I almost dropped it on Lincoln's glass of orange juice.

Nevertheless, the food was delicious, and could even rival my mom's cooking. Once again, the Loud children tried to talk to me, and believe me, I wanted to talk with them as much as they wanted to with me. But it's like when I'm not in a situation at the moment, I'll think of the perfect thing to say, but when the situation actually happens, my mind goes blank and I have nothing to say at all.

"What kind of animals do you like?" Lana asked, slamming her hands on the table.

"Well, I do love bunnies, and uh, ladybugs are kinda nice—"

"Do you prefer dresses or skirts?" Leni blurted, adjusting her sunglasses.

"Dre—"

"Do you like video games?" Lincoln inquired, shoving a video game case about a foot away from my nose.

"Yeah, I suppose I do play them quite frequentl—"

"Wait, you said you like bunnies, right?"

"Um . . . Yes?" I mumbled, rubbing my thumb on my plate.

"Is that why you stared at Bun Bun?"

"Well no—"

"_Bunny_!" Lily giggled from her high chair.

I was beginning to get a bit overwhelmed. Nobody has really bombarded me with questions asking about things I enjoy before, so this was like stepping into an entirely different country with new sights, smells, tastes, textures, sounds. I like the Louds, I really do, but they could be a bit . . . Well, no pun intended—_loud_ at times. They really live up to their last name.

By the time everyone had mostly finished their breakfasts, a huge "conversation" (I use the term loosely because it wasn't an organized conversation, it went all over the place) that went from Lynn and Rita's work stories to Lisa's insane science experiments. At one point, I saw Rita whisper something to Leni, who whispered to Luna, and then she whispered to Luan, and they all went around the table and whispered to everyone, aside from Lori and me. I figured it was something about the date I'd planned to set up for Lori, because they all seemed cautious in their whispering, giving sideways glances to see if she was listening.

Breakfast was over after that, and only Lori went upstairs in a dispirited manner. Everyone else stayed at the table with me, so we could discuss my plan.

"So, what exactly do you have planned for Lori's stay-at-home date, dude?" Luna asked, placing her arm on the table.

"Well, um . . ." I struggled to gather my words. "There—there is a small table in the kitchen. And I want Lori and Bobby to sit there for maximum intimacy."

"Ooh, so _romantic_," Lola cooed, folding her hands together with her eyes starring.

"And I was hoping . . . Maybe we could decorate the kitchen for them. Mr. Loud, I don't want them to eat in the actual dining room, it just doesn't feel very . . . Date-like."

"Mhmm, good point. I suppose we can move the tiny table to the center of the kitchen. And I'll even make some homemade pizza for them!" he exclaimed.

"Alright . . . Luna, can you play a nice, romantic melody on the violin?"

"Annie, why don't you provide the music for them? You sang so well the other night," Leni said, filing her fingernails.

"Woah, dude, you can sing? Why didn'tcha tell me?" Luna gasped.

"I . . . Stage fright," I mumbled bluntly.

"It took me a while to get over that too. But anyway, sure dude, I can play something deep on the violin." Luna pulled out her purple electric guitar and kissed it solemnly. "I'm gonna miss my ax for a while."

I grinned a little bit. "Lincoln, can you put on a waiter act?"

"Yeah, me and my friend Clyde can!" Lincoln smiled.

"Clyde?"

"Yeah, he lives close to us. He really likes Lori, though . . . I don't know if he could handle being her waiter."

"Oh. Well, that's okay . . . W-will you be the waiter by yourself?"

"Yeah. I even have Bobby's phone number, if you want me to call him to bring him over. He and I have been keeping in touch since Lori brought us to the county fair. Also, he doesn't mind driving in the snow."

"Perfect."

"I have studied the psychology of intimate partners and I have concluded that most partners prefer to have a bouquet of flowers involved in their dates," Lisa stated. "Therefore, I had begun working on an experiment that allows flowers to develop at tremendous speed." She put a potted rose, which was still closed in its bud, then poured a strange blue liquid on it, and it immediately opened its petals to the world like a cardinal unfolding its wings.

"Flowers! Ooh!" Lola squealed, clapping her gloved hands together. "Can I help decorate?"

"That . . . That'd be nice. Get Leni to help you," I advised.

Lincoln leaned close to my ear. "Don't let Leni spoil the surprise, she's well known for doing so in this household," he whispered, then leaned back in his seat.

"I won't."

"Oh! I can do some stand up comedy for the entertainment!" Luan suggested, pulling out a wooden dummy with blue clothes and a flat hat.

I squeaked in shock at the dummy. I've always been afraid of puppets—something about their eyes, and how they're manipulated by ventriloquists. They're just eerie and disturbing . . . And I don't know why, but I find dolls less disturbing, although some of them are very creepy—trust me, I had never been more ashamed of being named Annabelle after what I had discovered relating to dolls one day.

"Um . . . It's just Mr. Coconuts." Luan must have recognized my squeal. She closed her mouth, clenching her teeth together, and began to speak in a more high-pitched, masculine voice while moving the dummy's mouth: "Yeah, I won't bitecha, toots!"

I sighed with relief and pursed my lips. "I-I don't know if stand-up comedy will be too necessary," I said, trying not to hurt Luna's feelings. She seemed to understand, fortunately, and just shrugged.

"I know; you, Lynn and Lana could keep Lori busy for the day while we set things up."

"Okie dokie!"

"I'm really impressed that you kids were able to plan out a date for Lori," said Rita, caressing her mug of coffee. "Just hope Bobby makes it here safe, Lori already doesn't like driving in the snow."

"Don't worry, Mom. Everything will totally work out," Lincoln reassured. "Now, everyone know their part!"

"Yep!"

"Okay, meet back here after lunch and we'll start setting up."

With that, the Louds dispersed across the house, some leaving chairs still pulled out from under the table.

Then I remembered something—I needed to get my clothes on. I was still in the night gown (which I was actually starting to like).

"Mrs. Loud," I breathed, rushing after Rita and tugging on her sleeve.

"What's the trouble, Miss Annabelle?" Rita asked gently, turning around.

"Are—are my clothes in the dryer . . .?" I almost felt like a lazy freeloader for asking.

"Yes, they are. You should go change."

"Um, Mrs. Loud . . ."

"Hm?"

"Do you—do you think I'll ever get home . . . ?" There was a tint of longing and desolation to my voice that I don't think I have quite exposed to anyone before. I was so used to keeping my mouth shut when I was sad and just hiding in a walk-in closet so I wouldn't receive unwanted attention for my melancholy. Because I'll get one of two reactions—either people will press questions on me asking to know what's wrong, making me more upset, or they tell me to get over whatever I am upset about. But I couldn't suppress it now.

"Well . . ." Rita sighed, lowering her head. "I don't know when you'll be able to go back home, or see your family again. But I am certain—when the roads are more clear of snow, or when we know more about where you live, I suppose we could take a long road trip to South Carolina . . . For now, you're welcome to stay here until we find you a safe place to go."

I wiped my face. "Thank you."

"Of course." Rita smiled and went into her room.

I shook my head—what was I thinking? Why wouldn't I trust that the Louds wouldn't be anything but welcoming and friendly to me?

I proceeded down to the basement, despite the aura of eeriness it gave off, and I flipped on the light switch. The dryer was there, by the stairs, so I went down to it and yanked the door open to pull out my warm, fresh-smelling clothes. As a little kid, I always loved collapsing into a pile of clothes that had come straight out of the dryer and basking in the mother-like warmth. My clothes were, of course, warm and soft.

It was probably dumb of me, but I slipped into my clothes right in the basement (in my defense, I'd seen Lincoln get scared by the mention of the basement, so I assumed all the Louds preferred avoiding it). I then rushed up the stairs—but I didn't expect to see what was up there.

Lincoln was lounging on the couch in his underwear reading a comic book, Lily was walking around with her diaper loose, Lisa was handling a pair of test tubes that looked like they were about to explode, the twins played tug-of-war with a hula-hoop, Lucy was speaking avidly with a pale mannequin head dressed as a male vampire, Lynn Jr. was flying backwards to catch a football, Luan was strolling around with her dummy, Luna was standing on top of a pile of huge purple speakers about to strum her electric guitar, and Leni was talking on the phone.

Yeah. I was not sure how to take this all in. I thought my family was insane. Clearly I hadn't known the true definition of crazy before December 28th, 2016.

I backed up against the wall and snuck over to the printer, my footsteps drowned out by the loudness (no pun intended). The stack of papers was still there, so I slipped one off the stack and hurried to the dining room table. You know those little name tags people make using paper and they put them beside plates at family dinners and such? Well, I was going to make two of those, one for Lori, and one for Bobby.

First, I retrieved a pair of scissors and a pencil from the kitchen, which seemed extremely amoral to me at the time, but the Louds were letting me use their entire house, so I brushed it off. Next, I cut the paper in half, the line cut across the width of the sheet. Each half was folded into triangular prisms, and I wrote Lori and Bobby's names on them in a rather pleasing font.

Although they were a bit crude and I feel I could have done better, I finished the name tags up with some little rose and heart illustrations dispersed across each one. When I was finished, I re-folded the name tags, then strengthened the fold by sliding my finger across. The name tags for the date were finally done.

I figured since I had nothing better to do, I could grab another piece of paper and doodle some more. So I put the scissors away, pinched the corner of another sheet, and went to the table to practice drawing humanoids.

Lunch time was pushed to be quicker than breakfast this time, as everyone but Lori knew they only had a certain amount of time to prepare for the date. But that doesn't mean our mouths weren't satisfied—Lynn Sr. made grilled cheese sandwiches, and that just so happens to be one of my favorite comfort foods.

Afterwards, Lori, Lynn, Luan, and Lana went upstairs, just as we'd planned. Everyone else at the table dispersed to go do their thing, as Lincoln and I went into the kitchen to move the small circular table to the center of the room. Lincoln put two porcelain plates on the table, and I placed my name tags down beside them.

Lisa, Leni, and Lola came into the kitchen by the time that task was complete, each with decorations—Leni and Lola had some pink and red swirly streamers in their arms, and Lisa held a vase of delicate roses. Lisa set the vase on the table between the plates, while Leni and Lola went to work taping the streamers to the wall. I must say, all three of them were really good at what they were asked to do, I admit that I had my slight doubts in the Loud children carrying through with their tasks. But those doubts were quickly getting refuted.

Lynn Sr. came into the kitchen to start making the pizza, and at the sight of the ready dough on the counter, I grew a small appetite for pizza. But I got past it and decided to help Leni and Lola decorate the kitchen by grabbing a ladder (which Leni had kindly let me borrow) and taping streamers to the ceiling corners. It was a little crowded with three girls decorating and a grown man cooking, but we managed to make it work.

Then I grew concerned about how Luan, Lynn and Lana were upstairs. Had they spilled the secret? Was Lori not going to be surprised? Are they okay?

My thoughts were broken when I felt a cold finger tap on me, and I turned around, seeing Lucy with a sheet of paper.

"I wrote a poem for Lori and Bobby," she explained.

"May I hear?" I asked.

"Of course. Ahem—

_Lori,_

_You outweigh the beauty of a morning glory_

_I long to tell yours and Bobby's story._

_Bobby,_

_Spending time with you is Lori's best hobby_

_Your patience was tested_

_But you never act snobby."_

I was impressed how much Lucy could rhyme with just Lori and Bobby's names. "Wonderful," I complimented.

"Thank you. I should read this during their dinner. It will really please them." The gothic girl trudged away and went back upstairs.

By this time, it was about 3:00. I hadn't realized how much time had passed already. We only had two more hours before the date, and to me, it felt like something was missing from the date setup.

Then it clicked.

_Candles_.

Later, I tiptoed through the living room, hugging myself like I was freezing in the streets. I hadn't been in the kitchen for a while, since I'd gone up to use the bathroom and check on Lana, Lynn and Luan's distractions.

What they'd done to distract Lori was pretty clever: Lana and Lynn had built a wooden puppet show stage, and Luan was using her exemplary ventriloquist skills to put on a puppet show. Lori didn't look that entertained, but this boredom was going to be worth it.

So back to where I was now, I approached the parents' bedroom.

"Do you have any candles?" I asked Rita, poking my head out from behind the bedroom door. Rita had gone down to her room to rest about half an hour prior, and she seemed to be doing just fine, as she was bundled up in a fluffy cotton-candy pink robe and had a novel between her fingers, leaned up against her pillow.

"As a matter of fact, I do have some candles," Rita responded, sitting up and setting the novel down. By the looks of the cover, it actually looked like a really good book that I would read outside of school.

"May we borrow some? They're . . . They're meant to be a sort of extra touch for the date," I explained, twiddling my thumbs.

"Sure, I have some in my closet . . . I'll let you pick which ones you want. Come on in."

I was a bit afraid to step into her room. At home, it's like some forbidden sin to cross the line between the hall and my parents' bedroom door—both parents, that is. The fact that they prohibited entrance into their bedrooms had given me the idea, at least as a smaller child, that they were hiding something absolutely dreadful under their beds—perhaps a deadly weapon of mass destruction that would cause the genocide of a group of people, or a horrifying freak of nature that lived in the closet and they had to keep hidden. Nowadays, I assume it's for privacy reasons. I mean, I don't like people infringing on my space.

But I brushed my fears aside and stepped into the room. It was actually quite clean, and smelled of apple-cinnamon air freshener. My mom loves air fresheners, so I was instantly able to recognize the fragrance.

Rita opened the closet in her room, revealing multiple shelves with different items stacked upon them, and a row of large shoes along the carpet. One shelf had a dozen scented candles, but there were only two types—pumpkin spice and apple cinnamon. Personally, I think pumpkin spice is way overrated.

"Does Lori like apple cinnamon?" I asked, pointing to a candle with red wax.

"I'm _pretty_ sure she does. Here, take five of them, that should be enough." She scooped five of the candles in her arms and handed them to me. They felt slightly too heavy for me to carry to the kitchen, but I managed to get them all to there in one trip without dropping them.

"Annabelle! We've finished decorating," Lola announced as I entered the kitchen.

I almost dropped the candles.

The kitchen looked like a Valentine's Day dance for a school had swept across the kitchen and bathed it in red and pink. The swirly streamers kind of resembled elasticated lollipops flecked with hearts, the curtains had been closed over the window to give the kitchen a "Night in Paris" atmosphere, and the table was decorated with the lush rose bouquet in the vase, small confetti hearts sprinkled on the floor like the top of a lovely cake, and the pizza was already set out, steaming hot.

"This . . . Looks . . . _Amazing_," I murmured in sheer awe, gaping at the scene. If I were interested in any romance, this would definitely be the kind of date I'd go on. The mood was captured too perfectly.

"Ooh! Are we using those candles?" said Leni, folding the ladder and carrying it away.

I nodded, and set the candles on the counter. "What time is it? Where's Bobby?"

"4:55," Lincoln answered. "And he said he's almost here—"

_Knock, knock, knock._

"That must be him." Lincoln dashed out of the kitchen and skidded to a halt in front of the door. He unlocked it and swung it open, revealing a tall, thin teenage boy in the cleanest tuxedo and shiny black shoes, with neat black hair and decently tanned skin. He had some peach fuzz on his chin as well.

I assumed this was none other than Bobby. But I grew a little too nervous to meet him, so I hid behind the kitchen wall where he couldn't see me.

"Hey, Lincoln! Bro shake!"

The two boys began to perform an elaborate series of hand movements, which was somewhat entertaining to me.

"How do we end this?" Lincoln asked.

"I don't know," Bobby shrugged. They then abruptly stopped moving their hands, and Lincoln escorted Bobby to the small table.

"Lori should be here in a moment. But we have a guest right now, would you like to meet her?"

I jumped in alarm. I'd already had to get to know a family of thirteen . . . Bobby was a really nice guy, but I didn't want to seem too awkward in front of him, especially since I'm even more awkward around teenage boys than teenage girls. I can't explain why, I just am.

"Annabelle . . . ?" Lincoln turned to me; I was clutching the side of the kitchen wall and I am pretty certain I looked ridiculous. "Don't you wanna meet Bobby? He's a really cool guy."

I scooted away from the edge of the kitchen and managed to make eye contact with Bobby for about two seconds. Then my gaze shifted to the pizza, and I held out my trembling hand to shake his. He grasped my hand firmly and shook it.

"Wow, your hand is really sweaty. Annabelle, right?"

"Mm—mhm," I nodded.

"We're letting her stay here until she gets to go back home, she was apparently lost," Lincoln exposed, pulling a chair out from under the table for Bobby.

"Why, thank you, my good sir," Bobby chuckled in an imitation of some random rich man from . . . London, I think?

"You're very welcome, sir," said Lincoln, mimicking the same accent.

The Loud children were all chattering in waiting, as Lynn Sr. lit the candles and placed them in appropriate spots around the kitchen, until we heard footsteps on the stairs.

"She's coming! Places, everyone!" Lincoln announced. He darted away for a split second, and returned at the same speed in a butler's outfit, with a black tuxedo, gloves, and even a white towel draped over his right forearm.

"Okay, Lori, keep your eyes shut. We didn't set up this whole puppet show for nothin'," I heard Luan say as she, Lynn and Lana guided their oldest sister down the stairs.

I ducked behind the wall to the left of the main kitchen entrance.

Then Lori stepped foot into the kitchen, in the most beautiful baby-blue off-shoulder dress with a tight corset and a wide skirt that went down to her knees. White leggings covered her legs, while blue dress shoes with little bows covered her feet.

"Open your eyes."

Lori opened her blue shadowed eyes to the kitchen, and gasped in astonishment and enthusiasm. The first thing she noticed was Bobby, who she stared at directly and ran to hug. "_Boo Boo Bear_!" she shrieked, much to Bobby's ear pain. She caught a glimpse of the pizza, then the candles, and the hearts on the floor, the calming gilded glow of the kitchen, and the streamers.

"This is literally perfect, you guys!" she squealed in the highest pitch imaginable, bringing her hands to her face.

"It was all Annabelle's idea," Lincoln pointed out, gesturing to me. "She planned everything." I was still hidden behind the wall, so I popped my head out from behind there and waved, hair falling over my eye.

Lori strode up to me and gave me the tightest hug of sincerity I'd ever received. "Thank you. You don't know how much these dates mean to me. I don't know how you did all this . . . Are you a professional party planner?"

"Not at all," I responded. "You seemed so sad last night when it snowed. At least, I think you were sad . . ."

"Yes, I was, very sad."

"I think you have a date waiting for you." I subtly glanced at Bobby, who was watching with a sympathetic grin.

"Oh, of course—" Lori smoothed her skirt and sat next to Bobby, and they both scooted their chairs forward simultaneously to get closer to each other. Lincoln gave a signal to Luna, and she pulled a stool to the corner of the kitchen and pressed her head to a violin, sliding a bow across the strings to produce a lovely melody. For someone who was mostly into rock music, a genre far too aggressive for my taste, she really played the violin well.

The rest of the Loud family backed out of sight and watched from behind the kitchen walls. I still remained behind mine to make sure the date still went well. (Mr. and Mrs. Loud sniffled in the back, crying about how their "little girl was all grown up.")

I myself couldn't help smiling the entire time. I'd never witnessed a date before—apparently this is what it was like. Not much could go wrong, because it was just Lori and Bobby in the room by themselves with no interfering factors. Luna couldn't interfere, she knew not to. Clearly, each of them enjoyed their time—the couple ate their homemade pizza and wiped red sauce off each other's faces on occasion, giggling and having positive conversations.

When they were done eating, Lincoln came to the table with a silver platter. He lifted the lid, and underneath it was a neatly prepared chocolate cake with fresh frosting and a leaf as a decoration on top. He then went back to his place to proceed observing.

"I don't like eating cake all the time, but . . . Ah, _what the heck!_" Lori exclaimed, reaching for her fork and shoveling a bit of the cake into her mouth.

Bobby chuckled in response, and they shared the cake between silly laughter. I started snickering a bit myself, they were being really goofy.

After the cake and a really deep conversation, Lucy approached the table in an elegant, gothic outfit draped in artificial spiderwebs, clearing her throat. "I have a poem to present," she said, looking up at the couple with a sheet of paper between her fingers. "Ahem . . ."

"_Lori,_

_You outweigh the beauty of a morning glory_

_I long to tell yours and Bobby's story._

_Bobby,_

_Spending time with you is Lori's best hobby_

_Your patience was tested_

_But you never act snobby."_

She rolled the paper up like a scroll, and tucked her hands behind her back. Lori and Bobby gave her their applause, clearly delighted with the poem. And then . . . They both shared a kiss. I didn't quite see it happen, since I'd covered my eyes the last second.

Other than that, I was so happy the date went well. I was mildly concerned that everything would go wrong. But it didn't. It really didn't. I couldn't have been more glad.

As Lori and Bobby danced to Luna's violin melody in the the kitchen, the rest of the family talked nearby, split up into small groups. I was just mesmerized by the music and the graceful dancing of the teenage couple—I was too naïve to have witnessed a real couple dancing before.

But really . . . Who cared? I was getting to see one. A real one. It was relaxing, yet it hit each of my senses just right—the pleasing gold and red dimness of the candles and decorations, the silk-like music in the air, the warmth of the room like a cabin fireplace in an unforgiving torrent of wind, the fragrance of the candles, and . . . Well, for taste, you could say I practically tasted the leftover pizza from the distance.

All was well after that. Bobby said one final goodbye to Lori with a tender hug, and left, both their outfits just as clean as before the date. The rest of the Louds gathered around Lori for one big group hug, which I was jealous my own family never did.

Several of the family members looked to me, but I couldn't understand why. I hid behind the wall again, failing to comprehend why on Earth they were all turning their attention to me.

"Well? Aren't you going to join us?" Lori said, extending her arm.

I slid out from behind the wall, as my eyes stung from small tears, and I went up to join the enormous group hug.

"I wouldn't have had a good night without you, Anna," Lori said, Leni and I following her into their room. "Really . . . Nobody's ever done this for me—"

"You've thanked me like ten times in the past hour," I sighed, putting my hand on the back of my head.

"Yeah, but Bobby is really important to me, and so is my time spent with him. Every moment counts to me, and . . . I just—I don't know how you did all of this."

"It wasn't just me. All of your siblings helped. It's why Luan, Lynn and Lana set up a puppet show to distract you all afternoon." I closed the door to the room and collapsed on my sleeping bag.

"Okay, but seriously, thank you. It literally means the world to me. And you haven't even been here that long."

"I had to ask Lincoln for information on what you enjoy," I admitted, rubbing my forearm. "And the whole 'colors of love' theme was a big . . . Help, I guess you could say."

"Guys, wasn't Luna's violin playing, like, _super_ good?" Leni blurted, removing her sunglasses and setting them on a nightstand.

"Mhm. I personally would have preferred the harp, but . . . I love the sound of violins, too," I said.

I suddenly realized that I was actually having a normal conversation with two of the Louds rather than stuttering or mumbling just a few words in hopes that they'd know what I was trying to convey. It was like a world record to me at the time, but now that I know the Louds better in the present, I think my behavior then was a little irrational.

We conversed for the rest of the evening, though I spoke considerably less than Lori and Leni, and soon Lori removed her makeup in front of the vanity. They both got dressed into their pajamas while I myself left to get my nightgown and change in the bathroom (I want my privacy to change and to not see other people change), then we regrouped and spoke some more.

Unfortunately, I didn't stay up long enough to hear the end of the talking, and I passed out on the sleeping bag—but one thing's for sure, I fell asleep in satisfaction.

**This has to be one of my favorite chapters so far. I feel like I did a good job making this similar to a real Loud House episode. I feel like setting up a surprise date for Lori is something the siblings would actually do. **

**Plus, there are a couple moments where I reference the real world, such as the musicals Heather and Hamilton (I do not own them). I really love these musicals, but my personal favorite is The Great Comet of 1812. It is AMAZING. I did this because The Loud House universe is canonly shown to have some connection to the real world, like the state the show takes place in: Michigan, and the house being based off the creator's childhood home. **

**Before I go, I wanted to hint to something and possibly clear up some confusion... at the beginning of chapter 2, there are these random, condescending sentences in italics at the very beginning.**

**I'll give a hint: there are ten different sentences, and ten of another thing in the actual cartoon. These things correlate to each other. **

**Also, something funny, I recently saw a picture of Lincoln riding the Light Fury from How To Train Your Dragon 3, And I actually burst out in laughter. The image was really funny to me, I don't know why. I have an odd sense of humor. **

**But for now, this is TheOwlMoth, signing off. **


	6. A Day Out

**Okay, I'm back, and I am not dead. I don't know why i'm updating at two in the morning, though. **

**I went through a huge writer's block throughout May and half of June, I just had no ideas for anything. This chapter is no novel, but I've spent a while working on it. And I know it's late, but Happy Pride Month, from a heteroromantic ace. *Party horn* Speaking of which, I want to clarify that Annabelle is an aromantic and an ace. I think that fits her personality best, she's definitely not one for dating. **

**Today's chapter is really sweet, but important to Annabelle's development, just like last chapter. One of the recurring things in this story is how much Annabelle struggles with socializing. I want to keep it recurring as well, but I also want her to progress and get better at handling it. **

**Alright-y, let's go. **

**Chapter 6—A Day Out**

By the afternoon of December 29th, I'd begun to warm up to _The Dream Boat._ I actually found it rather fascinating, the fact that one person had multiple potential love interests and the conflicts they had in choosing between them. Lincoln and Leni had pushed me to give it another chance, and I'm quite grateful they did, because now, I finally enjoy a reality TV show.

The drama in the show was just too enticing to resist. I could see why even Lincoln liked it.

During one of the Louds' binge-watch sessions of The Dream Boat, he tried to get me to give Aargh! a chance, so I had to remind him that I find ghosts and ghost-related films terrifying, whether they're real or not. I suppose I'm just not one of those people who find being scared very fun. It's sort of the same reason I hate amusement parks, roller coasters in particular.

But still, it was nice to have stepped out of my comfort zone of family-friendly animated shows and movies, especially since the new thing I was trying didn't have gore or innuendoes in it.

Anyway, in the middle of watching the show, Lori pointed out the fact that the snow had melted almost completely, leaving water-splotched streets and small hints of snow here and there. She seemed to be extremely disappointed (I overheard her rambling to Leni for a little bit about how angry she was at knowing she could have just postponed the date), but she also countered it with the claim that she "literally adored" how we all set up a date for her at home, which made me feel better.

I participated more in the family table discussions that day, too. The way each of the Louds had different viewpoints on pretty much everything, how they each saw the world and how they saw smaller things, really fascinated me. Of course, I still wasn't more vocal about my opinions than some of the kids like Lori and Lola and Luna, but I had my fair share of time to speak. Besides, I never have much to say aloud.

What was going on? Was I feeling happier?

I must have been.

After draining a glass of apple juice I'd asked Mr. Loud to get for me (I don't think they want some random girl they've known for two and a half days poking around in their fridge), I started illustrating an ornately detailed pegasus at the small table in the kitchen. Some people called me down to earth, even though one of my favorite animals was the pegasus. I think I may have drawn a ladybug perched upon its forelock, but I don't remember clearly.

Then Lori, Leni and Lola came in, Lola curiously peering over my shoulder to see what I was drawing.

"Are you drawing a unicorn?" she asked with that perky, excitable six-year-old charm.

"A pegasus," I responded, lifting my right hand to reveal the whole paper. "One majestic creature of Greek Mythology."

"Uhh . . . I don't know what '_mystologgy_' is, but okay." Lola smiled, the large gap in her teeth prominent like a black hole.

Lori came up and stared at the illustration herself. I began to grow self conscious, as I wasn't used to older people viewing my work so much unless I was absolutely proud of it. "Cool," she commented, placing her phone in her back pocket. "Well, me and Leni were talking earlier, and we decided that we'd bring both Lola and you to the mall today."

I almost fell out of my chair in shock. "The mall?" I echoed, slowly running my fingers over the surface of the table.

"Yeah, the mall!" Leni shrieked, obviously very thrilled. "Don't you wanna go? It's so much fun."

"Well, I uh . . . I've never been."

"_YOU'VE NEVER BEEN TO THE MALL_?" Lori and Leni looked as though they'd just witnessed a murder, like it was a moral travesty that I'd never been to the mall.

"You have to go with us," Leni begged, seizing my shoulders and shaking me.

I couldn't find an excuse to not go. They'd been so hospitable to me, I couldn't disappoint them. Back home, I'd always come up with many excuses, even if they were horrible, to get out of going out in public for anything other than school.

"We just wanted to do you a favor, since you had such a great idea of setting up a date for me and my precious Bobby Boo-Boo Bear!"

"But that date was intended to be a favor for you, for being so kind and providing for me," I said softly, backing away from Leni. "You don't need to do any more for me than you have been."

"Don't worry about that. Come on, it'll be fun! There's tons of shops, including a book and comic store, an arcade, and there's even a frozen yogurt place! Even though it's cold . . ."

I froze. "Frozen yogurt?"

"Only the best," said Leni with an encouraging wink.

Frozen yogurt. I _love_ it. It might just be better than ice cream. Ice cream is hard and takes time to melt and get its flavor, but frozen yogurt is soft and sweet and just . . . So much better.

I supposed I could come along.

"Do you really want me to go?" I asked, tapping my index fingers together.

"Yeah," Leni replied.

"Eh, either way I don't mind. I just want to swing by the shop where they sell nail polish. I've run out of the pink glittery stuff," Lola commented, flexing her fingers and staring at her tiny nails. "Ugh, one of my nails is chipped!"

I folded the paper and stuffed my pencil inside of it so I could finish it later. Perhaps one of the reasons I was hesitant to come along was because I knew I never brought much to the table, figuratively. I was just so taciturn, too boring and unwilling to socialize by most people's standards. What if the three girls wanted me to go just because they felt pity on me?

Well, I try not to assume the worst of people, but I still had my doubts. I went to retrieve my socks and shoes, slipped them on, and once again borrowed a coat from Luan. Sure, it was above freezing now, but it was still cold outside.

I had a decently excited smile on my face. Lori and Leni counted dollar bills up and placed them in wallets, as Lola rocked on her toes with her hands folded, once again grinning widely.

"Leni and I have around two hundred dollars to spend in total," said Lori, sliding a blue purse strap up her shoulder. "We've received a lot of Christmas money."

"Are you sure you want to spend money on someone you've only known for a couple days?" I asked with uncertainty, lowering my head.

"Of course, why not?" Leni grinned and she walked out the door, followed by Lori and Lola. I went out last and was relieved when I felt that the air wasn't so frigid today. Still cold, just how I liked it, but not cold enough to give me frostbite.

I was led to Vanzilla and picked a seat to my liking, and Lori started the car. Vanzilla slowly backed out of the driveway, and we were off to have an adventure at the mall.

During the car ride, I felt a bit awkward, especially since Lori, Leni and Lola prattled away as I just bounced my knee and rocked my feet and fiddled with my seat belt. Occasionally, I'd push up my glasses, or one of the girls would check to see if I was in good condition in my place, and offered me a few words in their conversation.

"I . . . Prefer to be silent," I explained in the most polite way as possible after a while of it. I couldn't be blunt and just flat out say I didn't want to participate in a conversation. These were the people who saved my life, after all.

Soon, while we were still on the road, I raised my head and widened my eyes. We were approaching what looked to be a massive building with a very prominent label: Royal Woods Mall.

Once we pulled into the parking lot, I got a full view. The mall was absolutely enormous, it was a multi-sectioned structure with a single entrance at the front—a translucent door with black frames, and a large white overhang where people in fluffy coats congregated and talked with shopping bags draped over their shoulders. The parking lot was littered with cars of all different shapes and sizes, which we slowly passed by as Vanzilla rolled through.

Lori finally found an empty parking space near the front of the mall, and I heard the engine stop running. Everyone filed out, and I followed close behind. I nervously trudged behind them as they stride along with ease to the white overhang in the front of the mall—they were just so confident in their walking, fearing nothing, not feeling that frequent surge of panic when they approach a person.

Speaking of which, I was beginning to panic, as we were passing a pair of elderly white-haired women in fluffy coats, who smiled at us and bid us a good afternoon. That made me feel a bit better.

"Welcome to Royal Woods Mall," said Lori, turning back to me and backing up so I could get a view of the mall's interior.

It was all amazing, but so overwhelming. Folks were herding across, left and right, with food like cinnamon rolls and French fries. Some mothers clutched their children's hands and held stuffed animals in their other arms, presumably stuffed animals that belonged to the children. I saw a couple of (admittedly) good-looking teenage boys sneak winks at Lori and Leni, and Lola gawped at some of the stuffed animals other kids had.

As I felt panic rip through my chest and upcoming tears sting my eyes, Lori placed a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Y-yeah," I mumbled, blinking back tears. "Where do we go first?"

"Wherever the heck we want!" Lola exclaimed, hopping up and down and displaying the gap in her teeth. "Nail polish!"

"Ah, ah, ah," said Lori, seizing Lola by the hood of her coat before she could dash off. "We're all staying together right now."

"Meh. Fine." Lola swatted Lori's hand away.

"Alright. There's so many places we wanna show you!" Leni beamed, taking my wrist and pulling me in another direction. "How about the Fro-Yo place first?"

"I'll . . . Can we wait until . . . can we wait till we're warmer?" I asked as I raised my nails to my teeth to bite them.

"Yeah. There's just too much we have to get to first." Leni looked to her left. "To the clothes!"

Even though I was fourteen and should have been able to walk independently, I squeezed Lori's hand like she was my mother. I still did that back home whenever I did go out in public, which, one might guess, was very infrequently. Luckily, Lori didn't pull her hand away; in fact, she seemed kind of understanding. I don't normally expect someone like Lori, or anyone for that matter, to understand why I do things like that, but here I was again, surprised by the Louds' kindness.

Leni led us through some groups bypassing people and into a large clothing store, called Reininger's. My first thought, I don't know why, was _That sounds like a name of German origin._

Then I really looked at the store, and I went slack-jawed. There must have been thousands of clothing pieces in that store alone. I saw pretty blouses and ruffly dresses hanging on rotating racks, and stacks of formal shirts and jeans on wooden platforms near tall mirrors. Reininger's must have had absolutely everything.

Lola immediately darted toward a collection of pink clothing, squealing, to which Lori responded by promptly chasing her in shock. That left Leni and me at the entrance.

"Hmm. I think white and gray are your colors," said Leni, making a quick observation of me. "I know where to find some of the white clothes. Follow me."

I scratched the side of my face and followed her with hesitance. There were some other people in the store—one person I remember is a skinny, black-haired man wearing a short-sleeved white shirt with jeans, and had a short beard like sharp bristles on his chin. I also remember there being a broad-hipped woman with exceeding height, black glasses, red hair, and lipstick.

Leni stopped at a certain rack full of dresses that I admit were very appealing to me. I'm not a huge dressy person, but I will show absolute adoration for one if I find one I like. And there were lots of these on the rack.

I rotated the rack a few times, scanning through each dress as Leni turned her attention to another rack full of blue, purple and teal clothes.

Then I found the perfect thing.

I lifted a hanger from the rack. It was occupied by a beautiful, snow-white sweater dress that seemed to provide maximum comfort, and had a cute turtleneck. It was also my size and seemed to glitter under the bright light of the store.

I hugged that dress to my chest with a close-lipped smile of love and joy, rubbing it gently like it was my newborn baby. I would have kept going if Leni hadn't snapped me out of it.

"O-M-Gosh, that dress is _perfect_!" she squealed, pinching the ends of the dress and rubbing it with her thumbs. "It will look great on you."

"You really think so?" I asked, lowering the hanger down to the level of my waist.

"Mhm! I think some leggings will go really well with these." Leni skipped over to one of the wooden tables holding bottoms, and selected a pair of black leggings that looked to be my size. "I think we should get you one more thing. Hmm . . ." She began to browse the rack I'd picked the sweater dress from, and grinned widely at something—a light gray sweater with excessively long sleeves and a turtleneck, just how I like my sweaters. "Oh, you should definitely try this. And put some jeggings with it."

After Leni and I picked a pair of jeggings with a white heart pattern, the former picked out a cyan gown, and we both went into fitting rooms to change. Leni finished first, so she requested that I let her see how I looked in both outfits. I got dressed and came out wearing each outfit, first the dress and leggings, then the sweater and jeggings. Leni told me they fit perfectly. I think this is one of those situations where I was happier than most other times of my life.

"That was totes amazing!" Leni squealed, clapping. "Where's Lori and Lola?"

"_Lola! I don't have enough money to buy the entire stock of pink dresses!"_

"_THEN MAKE MORE MONEY!_"

"I think they're over there." I pointed to a distant group of racks, where Lori was chasing Lola down like prey. I watched Lola trip over one of the rack legs and drop some shiny pink dresses, which Lori was quick to pick up and put back in their original places.

"We need to get out of here before security tries to kick us out," Lori sighed, clearly exhausted from chasing Lola. "How about we bring Lola to the toy store so she can get in a better mood?"

"Toy store?" Lola sprinted over. "_Forget_ the nail polish and clothes!"

We checked the clothes out as fast as we could before Lola got too impatient. And let's just say, we weren't out of the toy store in just a few minutes. We must've spent twenty or so minutes wandering aimlessly around the nearest toy store, weaving through aisles as Lola zoomed around trying to pick a toy she wanted to buy. She went through stuffed animals, unicorn figures, dolls, fairy plushies, plastic tiaras—anything a really innocent six year old girl would love.

As we walked through an aisle packed to the brim with stuffed animals, I looked around with curiosity. I had quite an affinity for stuffed animals. I realized how long it had been since I'd slept with one of my own for comfort, and I had a sudden feeling of yearning. I'd sleep with one almost every single night back home. It was like I was starving for something, but not hungry at all. I don't need a stuffed animal to survive like I need food. Yet I felt like a wilting rose, petal tips pointed to the ground, leaves slouched.

But it seemed like my extreme longing was instantly cured when I saw a particular animal on one of the shelves; an adorable, green-eyed tortoiseshell cat plush with a thin tail and pricked up ears, a red bow tie around its neck. My heart swelled with love upon seeing it, and I reached for it.

Oh my goodness, I don't think I've felt many things softer than it. I began stroking the ears and head, like it was an actual cat. Why do I just love this thing so much? I thought, frowning. I've heard that something that comes with falling in love with someone is not being able to tell exactly why you love it, and this was the perfect example.

Lori noticed me holding the stuffed cat like a newborn, and walked over with a confused expression. "Um—"

My eyes widened at her. "Can I . . .?" I asked, shyly holding up the cat.

"How much does it cost?"

I patted the cat a few times and my hand emerged with a price tag. "Six dollars."

The blonde shrugged. "Eh. I don't see why not."

I felt joy and love hug my heart. I still don't know why I love it so much, why my heart went '_boom_' when I saw it.

Eventually, Lola ended up choosing a small fluffy pillow with an image of a unicorn on it. I really don't know why she picked it, since she didn't seem like someone to like pillows more than anything, but I think it was the unicorn that drove her to get it.

Lori paid for both items, and they were put into a white bag with the toy store's logo printed on it.

Next, we all agreed to go to the fro-yo place Leni kept talking about. There were some people there, but it wasn't overwhelmingly crowded. We had to wait in line before we could place our orders and receive the food, but I think that five minute wait was more than worth it.

I'd ordered a small cup of vanilla frozen yogurt topped with white chocolate chips, and it did not disappoint. I'm no food critic, but I am very picky and judgmental when it comes to food, and this frozen yogurt felt like a whole new sensation occurring in my mouth. The best way I can describe it now is: take the best vanilla ice cream you've ever had, soften it and smooth it out, then pour chocolate chips on it. The outcome of that would probably be very similar to the frozen yogurt at the Royal Woods Mall.

In fact, I was so impressed by it, that I think I bored the three blondes with my incessant talk of it.

When we were all done, we just took a look around the mall. It was pleasant to walk around and not get an instant panic attack from being near a large number of people. I felt safe with Leni and Lori somehow. Lori didn't even judge me for wanting a stuffed cat despite it being less socially acceptable for someone my age to even consider buying it. But she didn't mind. She didn't taunt me or tease me. . . She didn't make me want to return it, she didn't crush me for loving it.

It all made me feel safe and well.

The last stop we made was in a makeup store. We walked in, and it smelled so heavily of perfume that I almost passed out. It was like being punched in the nose by fragrances.

Lola didn't spend too much time in picking out a bottle of pink glittering nail polish, so Leni quickly purchased it and let Lola have it.

From then on, nobody was in a hurry to show me anything new. I felt like I could have made my way through the mall without getting lost by the end. Lori led the way to the exit of the mall, and out to the gelid air that felt like a slap to the face with a bag of ice cubes. It had been so warm in the mall, it was like I'd forgotten what winter was for a split second.

We hurried back to Vanzilla, and everyone sighed with relief when Lori turned on the warm air of the car. Leni, who was holding the bag from the toy store, tossed the pillow to Lola, and gave the tortoiseshell cat to me.

I tugged on the tag as soon as I caught it, it came off with relative ease. Tags that are unable to be removed without scissors happen to be one of my pet peeves. The first thing I did upon removing the tag was choose the cat's gender—male.

Then I thought of potential names. Lotus? No, too feminine . . . Shadow? Nah, too basic.

Wait.

"_Chumly_," I said softly, with a tiny smile. I smoothed the cat's fur.

"Huh?" Leni looked back from the front passenger seat.

"I was naming him," I explained, holding up Chumly. I brought him back down to my lap and stared into his adorable green eyes. How could anyone not but him? Well, I'm sure glad I was the first one who did.

Overall, I thought the trip to the mall was fun. Maybe it was scary and intimidating at first, walking in and seeing all the eyes of people who could have been watching my every move, silently judging me within their heads . . . But that feeling went away quickly. I don't think I ever felt quite as nervous going out in public again, and I thank the stars for that every day.

**Seems like Annabelle enjoys the mall, despite never having been to one before. I've been to the mall quite a few times in my life, it makes me kind of nervous walking around with so many other people in the same building. To someone with (social) anxiety, it can be very overwhelming. But you can still manage to have fun if you go to stores that appeal to your interests and eat food you like. I actually tried Cinnabons for the first time at a local mall, and I thought they tasted AMAZING. It was truly life-changing. **

**I'm gonna get some rest and go to bed. Have a good day/night, everyone. **


	7. Tea Parties and Questions

**Hello, everyone, welcome back to An Anxious Visitor. I apologize for not updating in a while, I had writer's block with this story (yet somehow I was able to type over ten pages of a new story in like one night). **

**This chapter, like most of the previous ones, will just be wholesome goodness as Annabelle experiences the life of the Loud House, and stringing together different events from her life that the present is reminding her of. But there will be that one chunk that isn't quite as wholesome and gets her feeling down for a bit. I've noticed that happens a lot in this story. **

**Before we get into this, I just have to give a shoutout to my good friend, Parent12D. He's been a great friend and even sort of a mentor to me throughout these past several months, and he's also what inspired me to name Annabelle's stuffed cat Chumly. I won't really get into detail about that, though. **

**Chapter 7—Tea Parties and Questions **

"_We're HOOOOOME!" _Lola blurted as soon as we walked through the front door of the Loud House. I covered my ears, still clutching Chumly in my left arm.

"Lola, don't scream," said Lori, glaring at her little sister. Lola scoffed and snatched her mall items, then went upstairs and slammed the door to her room.

"I'm sorry about that," Lori chuckled, turning to me. "Lola's . . . pretty loud."

"I've noticed," I responded, stroking Chumly's soft back as I considered the irony. I hadn't been able to stop petting him since I got him. He was too soft for me to resist. I never had any pets at home, except for a little light gray mouse I had when I was about eleven. His name was Moth, he was a really shy, but amiable mouse. He lived for about a year, until I found him mysteriously dead in his cage. I was so upset when he passed away, I practically plunged into a depression. I'd been taking good care of him, feeding him, playing with him, cleaning his cage, I wasn't certain how he died. The thought of my old friend made me stop for a moment, not blinking, remaining in front of the door like a standing corpse.

Speaking of pets, I looked up to the blue sofa and was shocked to see a black cat and a spotted dog sleeping on the cushions. I tapped Leni, and when I had her attention, I pointed to the animals.

"Oh, those two are our cat, Cliff, and our dog, Charles," Leni smiled, trotting to the sofa and rubbing Charles' belly. "We also have Walt, our bird, and Geo, our gerbil."

"Geo is a hamster, Leni," Lori corrected, beginning to step on the first stair with a bag in her hand. "Oh, and speak of the devil."

A bright yellow canary and a hamster rolling around in a transparent sphere made their way into the living room, the former perching on the back of the sofa and the latter struggling to climb on.

"It's weird, they only show up when we talk about them," said Lori. She heaved her stuff upstairs, and Leni followed close behind.

I wanted so badly to bring up Moth, but my own self restraint got the best of me once again. I'd already shared enough of a depressing background with the Louds (the story of me being dumped on the side of the road was what I considered more than enough), I didn't want to put them through any more of my not-so-great life stories. Well, to be honest, I was still uncertain whether my life had been improving or had gotten worse since I woke up on the side of the road. It felt like my world was crumbling all around me like the ruins of Rome in a furious war, but at the same time, it felt like my hopes were being built back up, bound together with thicker cement.

With hesitance, I approached the sofa, and Cliff stared up at me. Charles began barking and snarling, and I staggered back, taken by surprise.

"Shh! Charles, don't treat our guest like that!"

I jumped at the voice. Lincoln was hurtling downstairs, and he placed his hand on Charles' side. The dog calmed down and stopped growling, Lincoln had magically made an unfamiliar animal neutral towards me.

"Sorry. He's not the most open to strangers," Lincoln apologized.

"No. I understand . . . I've gotten barked at before," I said. It was true, I used to walk to school every day, quite relishing it until someone's dog, whose collar had been fixed to a rope attached to the ground, began to try and attack me. I'd always rush past, squealing, or if the dog was a territorial little chihuahua, I'd hunch my shoulders and move along without making myself too noticeable.

"Alright. Cliff doesn't seem to care too much, though."

The cat opened his wide, curious eyes to me, and I held out my hand. I liked doing this with neighboring cats, they liked bumping their heads against my hand whenever I held it out. Cliff crawled to the edge of the sofa and sniffed my hand, before pressing his head to my palm. It was probably one of the biggest reliefs I had that day, other than the relief I felt when I walked out of the mall not having been scathed by judgement.

Lincoln grinned and pat Charles on the head, then went back upstairs.

I knew it was rather silly, but I placed Chumly in front of Cliff to see if he'd recognize him as a real cat instead of a stuffed one. But the black cat was indifferent, he was in no way interested in what I'd just placed in front of him.

With a shrug, I took Chumly back in my arms, caressing his ears. I wasn't sure what to do now, so I just dragged myself to the stairs, only to be startled by Luan, who'd snatched a tube of chemicals from Lisa and was teasing her, using her height to her advantage.

I looked on with concern, trembling, then went upstairs, heading for Lori and Leni's room. I figured since I'd been staying with the Louds for a little while now, the blondes wouldn't mind me coming in and out of their room. So long as I knocked first, which I did. I suppose it was simply a habit I'd developed, knocking on doors to rooms that aren't mine so I'm not considered impolite.

When I knocked on the door, Lori answered with a "Come in," and I slowly pushed the door open. In I came with Chumly, still clutching him tightly like a friend I trusted to not let me go in a hazardous situation.

"Hi, Annie," said Leni, peering up from a magazine that she'd buried her nose in. I couldn't quite blame her for being that indulged in a magazine, I'm similar when it comes to books.

"Um, hello." I shut the door and collapsed onto my sleeping bag, straightening the covers like a bed that needed to be made. Chumly fell beside me, too, his tail nearly swiping me across the nose.

"Nice choice in clothes at the mall today, by the way," Lori commented, eyeing me with her phone in one hand. "I literally never would have guessed you looked good in white."

I scratched my head, pinching the end of my shirt and extending it. "But the shirt I'm wearing—"

_Never mind, _I thought. I wasn't able to string together my words, I can't be too sure why.

"Hmm?" said Lori, setting her phone face-down beside her pillow.

"Never mind," I finally mumbled aloud. I gripped my knees, a normal mannerism for me to perform when I don't know what to do with my hands. Yes, I had Chumly there to hold, but I suppose I'd just gone mindblank for a moment as I stared at the ceiling in silence. Staring at ceilings always allowed calmness to settle over me, but focusing on a blank, windowless white space for too long pulled a horrible memory out from the back of my head, without fail. It happened every time.

When I was, say, perhaps seven years of age, I was in first grade, back in my home of South Carolina. It was a normal day so far, if I recall correctly, I was doodling on the back of a spelling assignment I'd completed early (I was an excellent speller back in the day), and all of a sudden, I felt a rising pain in my lower body. I recognized this pain as my bladder trying its absolute hardest to hold in my "inner fluids," so I raised my hand and made a signal. The teacher, who I'd seen as a pleasant, friendly middle-aged woman then, had taught us different symbols to use when we needed different things. In the present, I don't remember which signal meant 'bathroom,' all I know is that I needed to go more than ever.

In the silence of the classroom, my hand fidgeted in the air. I was _desperate. _The teacher finally noticed, and muttered for me to wait. There was only one problem . . . _I couldn't. _Even though I was a taciturn child and always have been, I decided to defy my habits of primarily using sign language to communicate and asked a simple 'why.'

The teacher muttered again, and I distinctly remember her having a sour distastefulness in her voice: "_Because I said so." _In my opinion, adults should always explain to children why they are not allowed to do something, especially if it involves a basic need, like being prohibited from eating a normal amount, or _going to the bathroom. _A small child should never be held back from using the restroom.

I was an obedient girl most of the time, but with my desperation, I pushed on, using more words than I was comfortable with using. I didn't swear, I just spoke more than usual, and that must have pushed the teacher to the edge. At this point, I'd ascended into a hot, fuming tantrum, catching the attention of other classmates—yet I had not a care in the world, my body had been in too much agony, and I needed relief.

Eventually, the teacher was too furious with my tantrum. I was prone to emotional outbursts, but none quite like this. She seized me by the hand and yanked me out of the classroom (I made futile attempts to pull myself away from her, but my thin arms were too weak) and led me to a secluded room down the same hallway, from the looks of it, it was far away from some classrooms. There were teachers standing outside in the hall, wondering what in the world was going on, but they refused to intervene. The room my teacher had dragged me to was not one I like to think about . . . the reason I hate looking at white rooms for too long.

Perhaps the room being white and windowless was what scared me. The very first thing I noticed about it was that it felt _freezing. _It was made of cement blocks, and there was a single lightbulb that shone dim light through the prison cell—I mean, room. Now that I have seen the Loud family's home, I can conclude that this room was approximately the same size as Lincoln's room, except _his _room actually has a window and carpet. This room was utterly empty. The lightbulb frequently flickered, frightening me so often. I pounded on the door with my aching fists, begging for release, like a dove having been snatched out of the air and confined to a cage with no warning. My wrists were in pain, the door had been locked with no key to let me out. I'd even resorted to smashing my head against the door out of anguish, which resulted in me shattering one of the frames in my glasses. And on top of that, I still needed to use the restroom, yet the teacher thought that had been too much.

My eyes were stinging, hands bruised, face hot and crimson. This is something I may never forget, but . . . when I'd at last crumbled from exhaustion and hopelessness, I unleashed a sharp, acute shriek that must have been heard throughout the entire school, though I couldn't be certain, as cement is pretty soundproof. I was left in the middle of the floor, quivering, sobbing and whining, like a calf undeserving of a whip.

White was always my favorite color for a reason. It symbolizes purity and innocence, I was taught that. And I simply thought it was a beautiful color. But here, I loathed the color white with every fiber of my being. I wanted to escape white, I wanted to be blind, I wanted to be banned from seeing it at all costs. All I could remember myself thinking in that room was how many kids had possibly died in there, as I'd recently been informed of the concept of death and how it worked. It led to me being severely paranoid. I was also afraid of any ghosts or supernatural beings seizing me from behind and ripping into my flesh, something morbid.

When I was let out, I was half asleep, sulking on the floor. I don't even know how long I was locked in there; all I know is that my mother was standing there, looming over me with a look of sheer shock on her face, like she was petrified at what she'd seen. My glasses had been laying beside my face and my disheveled hair, the cracked lens pieces littering the floor. For once, it seemed my mother did not take the adults' side of the situation. She brought me home after giving a stern talking-to to the school principal, and even requested that my teacher be fired and that I have a new first grade class. She almost gave me counseling, but she couldn't afford a therapist. My family was never poor, but my mom was trying to save money back then.

Yeah . . . that's one of the memories of me as a small child that I remember vividly, but I despise that I remember it. It was years ago, seven years before I'd arrived at the Loud House, somehow it still pains me to talk about it to this day.

I snapped back to reality as my flashback ended, and I sat up, feeling a nasty headache invading my head like an aggressive army. My hands reached out and found Chumly, as I hastily squeezed him against my chest. Hugging stuffed animals never failed to make me feel better when I was under emotional stress, and it still does not fail me.

"Lori! Leni! I need to borrow Annabelle for a few minutes!" Lola cawed out of the blue, bursting through the door of the bedroom. I jumped in surprise, the jerky movement of my arms tossing Chumly to the side by mistake.

"What do you need now, Lola?" Lori rolled her eyes and frowned at her younger sister.

The young little blonde cleared her throat, preparing to put on a charming act. "Madame Annabellington, you are once again called into my room by me to have a tea party," she announced. "I believe your little feline friend will make a _wonderful _addition to the table, as would you."

"Um . . . tea party?" I picked Chumly back up, cradling him in my arms. How I loved tea. I wasn't sure if Lola had real tea, but even if she didn't, there was no issue in getting me to accept the invitation. "I'll attend, I love tea."

Lori stared with disbelief.

"Great! Now, come along, madame." I stood up and followed Lola's graceful strides down the hallway, her room was a short distance from Lori and Leni's. Honestly, I did not believe Lola had feet, the movements of her dress train were all too smooth and refined.

She opened the door to her room, and the smell of fresh, warm tea hit my nose instantly. So yes, she _did _have real tea.

Lana and Lisa, oddly enough, were attending the tea party as well. They sat on small stools against the circular table, holding porcelain cups full of tea, and adjacent to them were Lola's favorite stuffed animals, perched on stools with empty cups sitting in front of them.

I knew I was too old to be playing silly little games with a six year old, but who in the world would be opposed to it if they liked tea?

Lola invited me to sit down on a stool, and I did. Unfortunately, it was a little too small for my rear end to fit on, but at least I didn't break it with my weight. At least I was about to receive tea.

"Ahem, forgive me for my judgement, dear guest, but aren't you _slightly _too mature for a function such as this?" Lisa asked, sipping her unsweetened tea.

"Well, I enjoy tea, so I figured I'd enjoy a tea party, even if it is just a false one," I shrugged, gently placing Chumly on the stool next to me. Lola gripped the teapot at the center of the table and poured steaming tea into a cup, sliding it over to me.

"Sugar cubes, madame?" she offered, pinching two white cubes of sugar between her gloved fingers.

"Certainly." She dropped them in, careful not to let any drops of tea escape onto the tablecloth, and she took her seat, donning a fake crown that she boasted like an angel with a glimmering halo.

I held the porcelain cup to my lips and tasted the tea. It was much better than I expected; the sweet sugar and the warmth of the tea overtook my mouth, my tongue, my throat. At this moment, I had no idea why the British were made fun of for enjoying tea. This 'leaves in water' was the best drink I'd had in awhile.

"Did you make this? It's delicious," I said, sounding way less amazed than I actually was.

"Oh, no. My daddy made it," said Lola, caressing the end of a cup. "Hold out your pinkie. Ninety degree angle, sweetie."

I widened my eyes in realization, and stuck out my pinkie, abiding by Lola's wishes. She looked pleased.

Then I noticed Lisa staring me in the eyes from two feet away. I frowned at her with a confused countenance, and she leaned close, whispering with her spitting lisp, "Have you told anyone yet?"

It took me a moment to realize what she meant. "No, not yet. I'll . . . get to it soon."

"Would Sir Hopadiah and Sir Chum Von Lee like more tea?" Lola held out her hand to the two animals, one real, one inanimate, and placed the hand back on her chest to express sophistication.

I nearly fell off my stool as I saw there was an actual green frog sitting near me.

"Nah, he only likes fly stew," Lola said gruffly, showing off her gap-toothed grin.

Although sipping too quickly would probably have been considered rude, I finished the rest of my tea with relative ease, delighted by the taste. But I was too afraid to ask for more or leave, so I just remained in my seat in case any decent conversations came along.

"Lola, I was on the brink of curing malaria before I was brought into your room, which, by the way, does not intellectually stimulate me in any way, shape, or form," muttered Lisa. "Perhaps I would have had more time if Luan hadn't stolen my chemicals and taunted me with them." I mentally noted that Lisa had the ability to become very judgmental and disparaging, especially when around people of "inferior intellect," as she'd likely put it.

"Oh, Lisa, you're fine! I just needed more guests for my tea party."

I looked down at Chumly, who I doltishly imagined sipping tea with a monocle and a top hat upon his head, as he made remarks about how "refined" and "extraordinary" the beverage was. I'm not sure what makes the "British gentleman" stereotype so appealing to me. Maybe it was the politeness, or the formality they portrayed.

"Annabelle," Lisa started, "might I inquire why you are staring at the Felis Catus in such a manner?"

I stroked Chumly's head fur. "I got him from the mall, I thought he was cute, so . . . Lori bought him for me."

"Tortoiseshell cats are almost exclusively female, and the few ones who are male are typically sterile," Lisa said plainly, pushing up her glasses like the fact that she knew that was nothing.

"I've already decided him to be male, I don't really want to change his gender." I wasn't lying. If I'd tried to somehow make my stuffed animal a different gender longer than an hour after I'd discovered them, it would be impossible for me to give it the opposite gender. Maybe it was a memory thing for me, I didn't know.

"Hmm. Well, whatever suits you best." Lisa used a wooden stick to stir her tea and began sipping again.

I then looked to Chumly once more. His fur was a little long, I decided to begin determining his breed . . . he seemed to be a Ragamuffin. I was never a cat person, but my favorite breed of cat is the Ragamuffin. They are far too soft and beautiful to be hated.

"So . . . thank you for the tea, Lola," I said, holding Chumly in my arms. "It was delicious, but I'm not sure how much longer I can handle sitting in this stool."

"And thank _you _for attending," Lola returned, smiling so wide it didn't look real.

I left the room, hearing a distant croak from Lana's frog behind me, and I hesitantly closed the door. The floor squeaked underneath my feet, like I was stepping on sensitive mice, as I went down the stairs with nothing else to do. I saw Luan and Lily engaging in a game of chess at the coffee table, which I found odd; from my experience in the Loud House, Lisa should have been the one flaunting her intelligence and possible foresight in a game of chess.

I was about to pass the living room, and I heard Lily cheer something along the lines of "_Checkmate!" _

"Dang, you're good," Luan gawped in amazement, peering at her baby sister who, from the looks of it, wasn't cognizant enough to form a comprehensible sentence.

Without making myself noticeable, I plopped down on the couch and observed them with interest. Chess matches could get so intense sometimes, that was what made them so fascinating to me.

Just before Lily could make her second checkmate, both the Loud parents stepped into the living room, eyes on me. Luan and Lily turned their attention to their taller parents; they were concerned, from what I could tell, and were absolutely serious.

"Annabelle, could you come with us for a minute, please?" Rita asked, clutching her husband's hand. Her red lips had been twisted into a slight frown.

"Um . . . okay." I slid off the couch with my hands out in front of me, and I followed the adults into the dining room. They sat me down at the very end of the table, as they took seats at the side, slow, suspenseful, increasing my heart rate. I figured this had something to do with my unexpected arrival, and I couldn't blame them for wanting to ask me a few questions during my stay.

"We just want to ask you a few questions," said Lynn Sr, wearing the same frown as Rita.

"Alright . . . go ahead," I mumbled shakily.

Yep, an interrogation.

"Are you _sure _you're a lost child?" asked Rita.

I fiddled with my thumbs under the table. "Very. I don't know how I got here. I was told by a gas station owner that I'm in Royal Woods, Michigan, but I live in South Carolina."

"Do you know how you got here?"

I shook my head solemnly. "No. I just woke up on the side of the road and . . . I couldn't remember anything." I can't exactly blame them for wanting to ask me questions a few days later. At the door on that very night, those horrible twenty to thirty minutes I wanted to forget in the gelid city, I looked too desperate. The Loud family saw that I was on the verge of obtaining hypothermia and let me in without asking too many questions. I'm grateful they did, but I'm still confused as to how they thought a young girl was hiding anything sketchy, how they didn't think she was _sure _she was lost and needed help.

Both parents nodded to each other and turned their heads back to me. "Do you know someone, _anyone _we can contact to help get you home?"

"No . . . I haven't memorized any phone numbers." I tore off one of my nails under the table.

"Were you kidnapped?"

"I'm not sure," I sighed, eye contact with them slipping away as the bridge of my glasses slid down my nose.

"Do you need us to call the police? _Anything?_"

That question made me stop dead. I quit blinking until my eye began to sting, I stopped breathing until I thought I was suffocating. I swallowed hard and looked them dead in the eyes.

"No thank you."

Lynn Sr. exhaled. "Thank you. That was all we needed to know." They stood up, pushed their chairs back under the table, and left the dining room without another word said to me.

I was left alone with my thoughts at the table. After they left, I didn't say or do anything, just folded my hands on the tabletop and plunged into a deep state of thought. I was sure of myself when I answered the first few questions, but the last one? There was a high chance I wouldn't go home without help from the police, or a virtual map or _something. _I missed home, but I had no idea why. The Louds were so uplifting and kind, so willing to help, that I compared them to my family at home—shot me down, ignored me, insulting me for the few things that made me happy anymore.

What did the Louds do? Yes, they clearly had arguments and disputes at times, but they never hated each other for who they were. Nobody was bullied as soon as they emerged to take care of basic needs, something I felt deprived of at home.

Yet I still missed home. My final question was not about the police, and it was not asked by the Louds—it was asked by me, and was about whether I really wanted to go home or not.

**Well that was a rollercoaster of a chapter. Went from 0 to 100 really quickly. **

**I want to say that the whole thing with being locked in a windowless room is NOT something you should threaten or punish a child with, if that was not made clear by how frustrated and traumatized Annabelle was by it. Traumatizing a child is not the right way to discipline them (anyone with common sense should know that). Emotional and psychological abuse ARE a thing, yet nobody really talks about it. **

**Anyway, that whole cement block room experience was inspired by something I found while watching Reddit reviews on YouTube. It was a subreddit about the worst people on Earth, the ones who never consider the consequences. One story was about a young autistic boy in South Carolina who'd been locked in a windowless room as punishment for throwing a tantrum, and the mother of the boy was so upset that she gave her son counseling, and I believe she even sued the school. This kind of thing can be so psychologically damaging to a child. **

**Now that I think about it, Annabelle likely has a lot of psychological damage. She's very smart, of course, but mental trauma exists. **

**Okay, sorry for putting you through that downer. Just stay safe, wash your hands, and for the love of the Spaghetti Monster, PLEASE wear a mask in public to keep both yourself and the people surrounding you safe. Until the next chapter, I'll see you later. **


	8. New Year's in a New Place

**Hello, everyone. I'm back. **

**I just want to say how much online school has bitten me badly. Lately, I've been having a lot of mental breakdowns because of school, and due to other things, and I'm one of those weirdos who actually WANTED to go back to school. Now I miss being in quarantine. I've been feeling really despondent. Introvert problems, am I right? **

**Anyway, today I wanted to go more into Annabelle's view of herself. Of course, she doesn't view herself as a goddess or a queen, as most people don't. People like her (on the autism spectrum) have a unique perspective, a unique view of the world. I myself am on the spectrum as well, and I wouldn't change it for the world. **

**I didn't have much to say, except for there isn't much dialogue in this chapter. It's mostly a deep dive into our dear narrator's inner thoughts. **

**Chapter 8—New Year's in a New Place**

On the days December 29th and December 31st, I had two conferences with Lisa, one conference on each day. She called these "therapy sessions," but I had never seen a therapist before, so I couldn't be certain. These conferences, Lisa had said, were intended for me to talk about my life, and how I felt about it. Well, she described them in a much wordier manner, but I could comprehend it decently.

Some of her words were confusing, though. I remember going silent whenever she asked me a verbose question I didn't understand, anxiously tapping my fingers together or twiddling my thumbs. Whenever I performed these behaviors, I noticed Lisa jotted something down on a notepad of lined yellow paper. She also did the same thing when I went silent after she asked a question I wasn't sure how to respond to.

For a little bit, it was a relatively normal conversation. She asked me about my interests, and I talked about very few, as I had very few at the time, and the ones I did bring up were ones I spoke so avidly about, and would not move on from until Lisa specifically requested I do so. At one point, she slammed her hand on the wooden nightstand she used to conduct experiments, which was fortunately clear of chemicals, and I jumped, flailing my arms. Then she scribbled something down on her notepad again.

But soon, she brought up the topic of the autism spectrum. Lisa explained that she'd taken careful note of my mannerisms and subtle behaviors since the other day, and asked if I had gotten a proper diagnosis before. I said that I was diagnosed when I was very young, and for some reason, she gave me a second diagnosis for something called _Aspergers Syndrome. _

I was familiar with the term. Every symptom Lisa described to me perfectly fit, like puzzle pieces being arranged—repetitive movements and behaviors, hypersensitivity, almost constant concern, a timid nature, a tendency to not display emotions, and overall hesitation or confusion in social situations. There were some minor symptoms she picked up on as well, such as my limited interests.

Lisa said it was usually called a disorder, but a disorder will typically negatively impact one's life. A disorder can affect one's ability to live normally, and often put his or her life at risk. However, when I first found out I was on the spectrum, I did not feel like I had a disorder. I told Lisa that I did not feel defective. I don't feel like my state put me in a worse spot, I do not wish for this developmental 'disorder' to go away. Some even say it's almost like a superpower. I _liked _being an Aspie, and always have. If I wasn't an Aspie, who would I be? I would definitely stray so far from myself that I'd forget who I was before.

Yes, I struggled to make friends back home, and I had so much trouble performing the slightest social interaction, but I'm fine with it. In this age, social interaction isn't quite as necessary as it was around a century ago, with all the modern technology that makes communication so much easier. In fact, I found I enjoyed most online conversations far more fascinating and less nerve-racking than face-to-face conversations.

During our second conference, I conveyed to Lisa how I was looking forward to a fresh, new year. What she said next made my heart drop:

"You know, an individual on the spectrum such as yourself is highly susceptible to being frightened by fireworks and New Year's celebrations."

I bit my nails the second she finished. It was true, I seemed to have forgotten all about the fireworks. While I do love my country, Independence Day doesn't sit well with me due to the excessive number of fireworks that go off in the night, or even during the day, while the sun is still shining. I will _never _understand why people choose to send fireworks into the sky during the daytime. And at night, whenever I lay in bed, fireworks would startle me greatly and invoke a squeal or a small scream out of me. My family frequently scolded me for these odd noises, but they were involuntary reactions.

_Involuntary reactions _is what Lisa called these kinds of behaviors. She said they commonly came out of Aspies, like myself. Fortunately, Lisa said that I was on the higher end of the spectrum and I should be able to do well without much help.

After our conference, I left her and Lily's room. The twins were curious as to why Lisa randomly pulled me aside twice in one week; I simply said that she wanted to have a nice chat with me. They both raised their eyebrows, Lola muttering that that didn't sound like Lisa, and they walked off.

As I trudged through the house with my hair draped over my shoulders, I thought about what Lisa and I discussed. I could almost hear the faint throbbing of my heart, leaping and bounding from the very idea of facing fireworks. Each sudden _boom_ was a minacious cackle from one who meant well, but rubbed me the wrong way. I never understood the appeal of fireworks. They are overly cacophonous and leave repulsively-smelling fumes settling over neighborhoods, overwhelming every nose and practically burning each nose hair off in a matter of seconds. Not to mention the mountains of litter families who blast fireworks leave by midnight, something I have found extraordinarily egregious and impertinent. People are better than that, I just wish they would behave like it.

I was hoping the Louds would be forgiving if I told them I was afraid of New Year's fireworks and parties. Perhaps they already knew or could very easily figure out those two things revolted me. Well, they'd already done so much, them being merciful after hearing that fireworks, of all things, frightened me would seem like a piece of cake.

That phrase. _Piece of cake. _When I was in kindergarten, I was given a math assignment on subtraction. The teacher grinned widely and announced that it was "_a piece of cake." _

I merely tilted my head down at the sheet of paper, on which very simple subtraction problems were shown, and examined it for a few seconds before looking back up. "This is a sheet of paper," I murmured. "It's not a piece of cake . . . does it taste like cake?"

Of course, being a kindergartener with a lack of reason, I tore off a corner of the page, about one inch on the vertical side, and slipped it into my mouth. I was utterly sickened by it; its taste was somehow bland and repugnant both at the same time, so I spat it out into my hand, the corner now a wad of paper sodden in thick saliva.

Yeah, it wasn't cake. The teacher noticed that I had spat into my hand, and when she asked why, I gripped my knees and answered, "You said it was a piece of cake."

She spent the next five minutes just trying to explain the idiom _piece of cake _to me. I still feel slightly stupid over it now. The world was confusing and chaotic for me, it always has been. I certainly understand the idioms '_piece of cake' _and '_easy as pie' _now, but for a while, I never could understand when people said, "_Take a seat." _I always thought it literally meant, "_Pick up the seat and walk out." _I do not have any stories to report involving that phrase.

By 6:00 that night, it was getting dark, and the Louds were all preparing for New Year's. Mr. Loud scrambled to select the perfect fireworks from a secret stash he held in his room with Rita, as the children got themselves prepped up for this annual celebration. Though fireworks really aren't common on New Year's Eve where I am from, they are _very _prominent on Independence Day. That was part of what made me so timorous that evening.

Before everyone could go outside into the front yard to watch the fireworks ignite the sky like luminous paint, Lisa advised that I find a place where I would not be disturbed by the fireworks. But, I considered carefully—this family, who I _scarcely _knew and had just met, had been so kind to me in just a few days than I felt people from back home were to me in an entire month. If they genuinely enjoyed my frivolous company (not so frivolous to them, probably), the least I could do was be there to witness a new year with them, if I couldn't do it with my own family.

So I informed Lisa that I would, in fact, be joining them that night, even though she and I were both skeptical.

Something about the cold and the abundant company and comfort from the homemade hot chocolate oozing down the gelid walls of our throats made me feel . . . nostalgic, and sentimental. No snow drifted from the sky, yet the ground still held some, dispersed across the grass and the roofs of homes. Perhaps the gentle nip of the freezing air of winter was more memorable to me than the searing, skin-peeling kiss of summer heat. I'd _much _sooner accept the embrace of winter than summer.

At 7:00 that night, everyone, including me, was outside, wearing thick, woolen coats and carrying cocoa, burning hot to the touch. I was the only one who refused to wear gloves, as I'd grown accustomed to the cold. I wasn't insane enough to go without a coat, though, considering I had nearly attained hypothermia five days prior. Leaving my hands bare was as far as I would go.

I watched with severe apprehension as Lynn Sr. planted a firework into the ground and lit a mechanical match. My hands clenched as I fidgeted them rapidly. Leni and Luan, who were sitting on either side, gaped at me in confusion while I did so.

Finally, the first firework shot straight into the air, a loud _BOOM _resonating across the sky, like amplified thunder. I slapped my hands over my ears, baring my teeth as everyone else stared at the sky with awe and wonder. All I could ask was _why? Why does everyone enjoy fireworks? They're so overwhelming . . . _

In all honesty, I can't remember most of the fireworks' colors, or if they formed any shapes. I briefly glimpsed the sky out of curiosity, but regretted it less than a second later and buried my head back into my knees, ears still covered. Try as I might, I couldn't maintain a smile, or laugh or hug like the Louds. My heart pounded with all the force of the fireworks, ears ringing like wine glasses' chimes, the stress rising from my gut to my head, an excruciating headache pulsing against the front of my face.

This was all too much for me—I yanked my hair, fortunately not forceful enough to pull it out, and unleashed hot tears. A stinging pain ripped across my scalp, but I had lost all control, unable to react when my sensitive head felt like its very flesh was being torn to shreds. Leni and Luan turned their heads in shock, the former seizing my wrists and pressing them down, away from my hair. "Don't pull your beautiful hair out, Annabelle!" she frowned, biting her lip.

"What are you doing? Are you okay?" Luan asked, placing a hand on my tensed shoulder.

"_Fireworks," _I muttered, hardly comprehensible.

Luan squeezed my forearm and hauled me up, guiding me through the doorway in my overwhelmed state. I was far too overwhelmed to even uncover my eyes until I felt something soft and cushiony sink beneath my rear end.

I opened my eyes and observed my surroundings; Luan had set me on the couch, and she had this odd countenance.

After I took a breather and found my bearings, I sighed. "The fireworks were too loud," I mumbled, tightly pressing my thighs together.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Luan asked, scratching her head as her ponytail flailed.

"I . . . I guess I was too overwhelmed." There really was no explanation I could give as to why I never told anyone I got stressed out by things like fireworks. Maybe communication was too difficult.

"You should stay in here. After all, you don't wanna get all _fireworked _up!"

Just after telling such a pun, Luan grinned widely, but I only stared at her with a blank expression.

"Eh. Worth a shot. But seriously, don't let fireworks overwhelm you." She turned to leave, quickly closing the front door so the fireworks' booms weren't so loud. I could still hear them from the empty living room, but luckily, they weren't loud enough to stress me out like before.

The more I sat there alone, the more I dove into my thoughts. This was the first time I felt I was truly alone since I woke up on the side of the road, so I had time to calm down and think for more than a minute. There was so much to think about, though—so much to dwell on—my head leapt from the firework meltdown to my home to waking up on the road to how kind the Louds were. I was relatively still in this process, with the occasional fidgeting of my knees, feet, or shoulders in my hunched position.

I'd been sitting there for approximately ten minutes when the family came back inside, satisfied with their evening. I felt a swelling guilt rise from my gut to my chest. Why, for just a few moments, could I not set aside my minor issues for a group that had been so _generous? _

"Annabelle, Luan told us you went inside. Is everything okay?" Rita asked, closing the door behind her. Most of the Loud children dispersed across the home, but Lisa, Leni and Lincoln stayed in the living room.

"I . . . I just get overwhelmed by loud things," I sighed, holding up my hand as an explanatory gesture.

Lisa's eyelids lowered, as she wore her typical frown. "Mother, our guest has the desire to inform you of something, and has been since the beginning of her temporary residence here." She turned to me and nodded her head.

"What?"

"Wait, what is it?" Leni asked, Lincoln's curiosity also piquing.

I was getting that "overwhelmed" feeling again. Definitely milder than what I experienced during the fireworks, but I feared this would progress into a very mentally stressful situation.

"Is this serious? Does this have to do with you being able to get home?" said Rita, her concerns amplifying.

"No, no." I knew exactly what Lisa was referring to, but I didn't know why she told Rita I wanted to share something with the rest of the Loud family. Now that she brought it up, I really did not want to, I wanted to repress my urge to reveal this aspect about myself. And really, I didn't know why I was making such a big deal over it. It wasn't like I was coming out of the closet, which arguably takes infinitely more courage to do.

With a sigh, I decided that I was tired of this tension, this questioning, and exhaled, "I have Aspergers syndrome. That's why I was overwhelmed by the fireworks, and it's why I've been having trouble talking."

I glimpsed Lisa, who finally had a small, close-mouthed smile, and nodded again.

Leni scratched her head. "What is that?"

Lincoln covered his mouth and his eyes widened. "Wait, did you say a—"

"_No_," Lisa interrupted, before he could say anything inappropriate.

Rita took longer to respond than the other two. "That would explain a lot, but I don't mind," she said. I dropped my shoulders in response, eyes widening like expanding puddles.

"Oh . . . well, okay," I murmured, tossing half of my hair against the right side of my face.

"I'm not entirely sure what that is, though. I'll have to look more into it." Rita smiled, and headed up to her room.

_Huh. _I'd been overthinking something that turned out to be practically nothing at all. After that exchange, Leni and Lincoln had some sort of debate over the term _Aspergers syndrome, _until Lisa rolled her eyes, and in her prominent lisp, explained what the condition was to them.

They both agreed that it sounded nearly identical to how I behaved.

That night, I went to bed with a light satisfaction, like a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I didn't realize how much not telling at least _one _other person besides Lisa about my condition affected me; nevertheless, I was glad I said something. Rita might not have known what it was exactly, but she said she'd look more into it, so I was assured.

I had some trouble sleeping that night, despite the satisfaction. I don't think I fell asleep until 11:59 in December 2016, when I heard the faint cheering of people from the distance.

_5 . . ._

_4 . . ._

_3 . . ._

_2 . . ._

_Sleep. _

**That was chapter 8. Now, I tried to treat the main subject of the chapter with as much respect as possible, because why would you not treat your own condition with respect? **

**Well, this chapter is merely scratching the surface of what Aspies truly experience. There is a lot more to it, and it's not all bad. Some of the stuff in this chapter is based on my own personal experiences, like the fireworks. I don't cry over fireworks, but they do frighten and overwhelm me. **

**What DO bring me to have meltdowns, however, are school pep rallies. The heat from my fellow students and the deafening screams and the band and the cheerleaders' chants are far too much for me, and I end up sobbing. These are called "sensory overloads," and the way Aspies deal with them is to release it all through a meltdown. Meltdowns can be mild, just crying or shaking, or they can bring someone to hurt themselves, throw things around, or possibly hurt someone else. I'm thankful my meltdowns are mild. **

**There's so much about this condition I haven't talked about. If anyone is on the autism spectrum or experience things like these, let me know, I like hearing stories. I have picture day at school tomorrow, and I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty anxious… so I'm going to go to bed. Good night. **


End file.
